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THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

ROBERT     W.     CHAMBERS 


THE  SLAYER 
OF  SOULS 


BY 

ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS 

AUTHOR   OF  "IN    SECRET,"  "THE    COMMON    LAW,"  "THE 
RECKONING,"  "LORRAINE,"  ETC. 


NEW  XBIr  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1920, 
By  Robert  W.  Chambers 


Copyright,  1919, 1920,  by  International  Magazine  Company 
Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


5(2 


TO 

MY  FRIEND 
GEORGE    ARMSBY 


564430 

LISKAEU 


TO 

GEORGE 

I 

Mirror  of  Fashion, 

Admiral  of  Finance, 

Don't,  in  a  passion, 

Denounce  this  poor  Romance; 

For,  while  I  dare  not  hope  it  might 

Enthuse  you, 

Perhaps  it  will,  some  rainy  night, 

Amuse  you. 

II 

So,  your  attention, 

In  poetry  polite, 

To  my  invention 

I  bashfully  invite. 

Don't  hurl  the  book  at  Eddie's  head 

Deep  laden, 

Or  Messmore's;  you  might  hit  instead 

Will  Braden. 

Ill 

Kahn  among  Canners, 

And  Grand  Vizier  of  style, 

Emir  of  Manners, 

Accept — and  place  on  file — 

This  tribute,  which  I  proffer  while 

I  grovel, 

And  honor  with  thy  matchless  Smile 

My  novel. 

R.  W.  C. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  THE  YEZIDEE 13 

II  THE  YELLOW  SNAKE 21 

III  GREY  MAGIC 38 

IV  BODY  AND  SOUL 54 

V  THE  ASSASSINS 76 

VI  IN  BATTLE 95 

VII  THE  BRIDAL 113 

VIII  THE  MAN  IN  WHITE 135 

IX  THE  WEST  WIND 147 

.      X  AT  THE  RITZ l6l 

XI  YULUN  THE  BELOVED 183 

XII  HIS  EXCELLENCY 197 

xin  SA-N'SA 207 

XIV  A  DEATH-TRAIL 238 

XV  IN  THE  FIRELIGHT 249 

XVI  THE  PLACE  OF  PRAYER 26l 

XVII  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 277 


vil 


THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 


THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  YEZIDEE 

ONLY  when  the  Nan-yang  Maru  sailed  from 
Yuen-San  did  her  terrible  sense  of  forebod- 
ing begin  to  subside. 

For  four  years,  waking  or  sleeping,  the  awful  sub- 
consciousness  of  supreme  evil  had  never  left  her. 

But  now,  as  the  Korean  shore,  receding  into  dark- 
ness, grew  dimmer  and  dimmer,  fear  subsided  and 
grew  vague  as  the  half-forgotten  memory  of  horror 
in  a  dream. 

She  stood  near  the  steamer's  stern  apart  from 
other  passengers,  a  slender,  lonely  figure  in  her 
silver-fox  furs,  her  ulster  and  smart  little  hat,  watch- 
ing the  lights  of  Yuen-San  grow  paler  and  smaller 
along  the  horizon  until  they  looked  like  a  level  row 
»of  stars. 

Under  her  haunted  eyes  Asia  was  slowly  dis- 
solving to  a  streak  of  vapour  in  the  misty  lustre  of 
the  moon. 

Suddenly  the  ancient  continent  disappeared, 
washed  out  by  a  wave  against  the  sky;  and  with  it 
13 


14  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

vanished  the  last  shreds  of  that  accursed  nightmare 
which  had  possessed  her  for  four  endless  years.  But 
whether  during  those  unreal  years  her  soul  had  only 
been  held  in  bondage,  or  whether,  as  she  had  been 
taught,  it  had  been  irrevocably  destroyed,  she  still 
remained  uncertain,  knowing  nothing  about  the  death 
of  souls  or  how  it  was  accomplished. 

As  she  stood  there,  her  sad  eyes  fixed  on  the  misty 
East,  a  passenger  passing — an  Englishwoman — 
paused  to  say  something  kind  to  the  young  American ; 
and  added,  "if  there  is  anything  my  husband  and  I 
can  do  it  would  give  us  much  pleasure."  The  girl 
ha.d  turned  her  head  as  though  not  comprehending. 
The  other  woman  hesitated. 

"This  is  Doctor  Nome's  daughter,  is  it  not?"  she 
inquired  in  a  pleasant  voice. 

"Yes,  I  am  Tressa  Nome.  ...  I  ask  your  par- 
don. .  .  .  Thank  you,  madam: — I  am — I  seem  to 
be — a  trifle  dazed " 

"What  wonder,  you  poor  child!  Come  to  us  if 
you  feel  need  of  companionship." 

"You  are  very  kind.  ...  I  seem  to  wish  to  be 
alone,  somehow." 

"I  understand.  .  .  .  Good-night,  my  dear." 

Late  the  next  morning  Tressa  Nome  awoke,  con- 
scious for  the  first  time  in  four  years  that  it  was  at 
last  her  own  familiar  self  stretched  out  there  on  the 
pillows  where  sunshine  streamed  through  the  port- 
hole. All  that  day  she  lay  in  her  bamboo  steamer 
chair  on  deck.  Sun  and  wind  conspired  to  dry  every 
tear  that  wet  her  closed  lashes.  Her  dark,  glossy 


THE  YEZIDEE  15 

hair  blew  about  her  face ;  scarlet  tinted  her  full  lips 
again ;  the  tense  hands  relaxed.  Peace  came  at  sun- 
down. 

That  evening  she  took  her  Yu-kin  from  her  cabin 
and  found  a  chair  on  the  deserted  hurricane  deck. 

And  here,  in  the  brilliant  moonlight  of  the  China 
Sea,  she  curled  up  cross-legged  on  the  deck,  all  alone, 
and  sounded  the  four  futile  strings  of  her  moon-lute, 
and  hummed  to  herself,  in  a  still  voice,  old  songs 
she  had  sung  in  Yian  before  the  tragedy.  She  sang 
the  tent-song  called  Tchinguiz.  She  sang  Camel 
Bells  and  The  Blue  Bazaar, — children's  songs  of  the 
Yiort.  She  sang  the  ancient  Khiounnou  song  called 
uThe  Saghalien": 


In  the  month  of  Saffar 
Among  the  river-reeds 
I  saw  two  horsemen 
Sitting  on  their  steeds. 
Tulugum  ! 
Heitulum! 
By  the  river-reeds 

II 

In  the  month  of  Saffar 
A  demon  guards  the  ford. 

Tokhta,  my  Lover! 
Draw  your  shining  sword! 
Tulugum! 
Heitulum! 
Slay  him  with  your  sword! 


16  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 


In  the  month  of  Saffar 
]Among  the  water-weeds 

I  saw  two  horsemen 
Fighting  on  their  steeds. 
Tulugum! 
Heitulum! 
lHow  my  lover  bleeds/ 

IV 

In  the  month  of  Saffar, 
The  Year  I  should  have  wed  — 
The  Year  of  The  Panther— 
My  lover  lay  dead,  — 
Tulugum  ! 
Heitulum! 
Dead  without  a  head. 

And  songs  like  these  —  the  one  called  "Keuke 
Mongol,"  and  an  ancient  air  of  the  Tchortchas  called 
"The  Thirty  Thousand  Calamities,"  and  some  Chi- 
nese boatmen's  songs  which  she  had  heard  in  Yian 
before  the  tragedy;  these  she  hummed  to  herself 
there  in  the  moonlight  playing  on  her  round-faced, 
short-necked  lute  of  four  strings. 

Terror  indeed  seemed  ended  for  her,  and  in  her 
heart  a  great  overwhelming  joy  was  welling  up 
which  seemed  to  overflow  across  the  entire  moonlit 
world. 

She  had  no  longer  any  fear;  no  premonition  of 
further  evil.  Among  the  few  Americans  and  English 
aboard,  something  of  her  story  was  already  known. 


THE  YEZIDEE  17 

People  were  kind;  and  they  were  also  considerate 
enough  to  subdue  their  sympathetic  curiosity  when 
they  discovered  that  this  young  American  girl  shrank 
from  any  mention  of  what  had  happened  to  her 
during  the  last  four  years  of  the  Great  World  War. 

It  was  evident,  also,  that  she  preferred  to  remain 
aloof;  and  this  inclination,  when  finally  understood, 
was  respected  by  her  fellow  passengers.  The  clever, 
efficient  and  polite  Japanese  officers  and  crew  of  the 
Nan-yang  Maru  were  invariably  considerate  and 
courteous  to  her,  and  they  remained  nicely  reticent, 
although  they  also  knew  the  main  outline  of  her  story 
and  very  much  desired  to  know  more.  And  so,  sur- 
rounded now  by  the  friendly  security  of  civilised 
humanity,  Tressa  Nome,  reborn  to  light  out  of  hell's 
own  shadows,  awoke  from  four  years  of  nightmare 
which,  after  all,  perhaps,  never  had  seemed  entirely 
actual. 

And  now  God's  real  sun  warmed  her  by  day;  His 
real  moon  bathed  her  in  creamy  coolness  by  night; 
sky  and  wind  and  wave  thrilled  her  with  their  blessed 
assurance  that  this  was  once  more  the  real  world 
which  stretched  illimitably  on  every  side  from 
horizon  to  horizon;  and  the  fair  faces  and  pleasant 
voices  of  her  own  countrymen  made  the  past  seem 
only  a  ghastly  dream  that  never  again  could  enmesh 
her  soul  with  its  web  of  sorcery. 

And  now  the  days  at  sea  fled  very  swiftly;  and 
when  at  last  the  Golden  Gate  was  not  far  away  she 
had  finally  managed  to  persuade  herself  that  nothing 


18  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

really  can  harm  the  human  soul ;  that  the  monstrous 
devil-years  were  ended,  never  again  to  return;  that 
in  this  vast,  clean  Western  Continent  there  could 
be  no  occult  threat  to  dread,  no  gigantic  menace  to 
destroy  her  body,  no  secret  power  that  could  consign 
her  soul  to  the  dreadful  abysm  of  spiritual  annihila- 
tion. 

Very  early  that  morning  she  came  on  deck.  The 
November  day  was  delightfully  warm,  the  air  clear 
save  for  a  belt  of  mist  low  on  the  water  to  the  south- 
ward. 

She  had  been  told  that  land  would  not  be  sighted 
for  twenty-four  hours,  but  she  went  forward  and 
stood  beside  the  starboard  rail,  searching  the  hori- 
zon with  the  enchanted  eyes  of  hope. 

As  she  stood  there  a  Japanese  ship's  officer  cross- 
ing the  deck,  forward,  halted  abruptly  and  stood 
staring  at  something  to  the  southward. 

At  the  same  moment,  above  the  belt  of  mist  on 
the  water,  and  perfectly  clear  against  the  blue  sky 
above,  the  girl  saw  a  fountain  of  gold  fire  rise  from 
the  fog,  drift  upward  in  the  daylight,  slowly  assume 
the  incandescent  outline  of  a  serpentine  creature 
which  leisurely  uncoiled  and  hung  there  floating,  its 
lizard-tail  undulating,  its  feet  with  their  five  stumpy 
claws  closing,  relaxing,  like  those  of  a  living  reptile. 
For  a  full  minute  this  amazing  shape  of  fire  floated 
there  in  the  sky,  brilliant  in  the  morning  light,  then 
the  reptilian  form  faded,  died  out,  and  the  last  spark 
vanished  in  the  sunshine. 


THE  YEZIDEE  19 

When  the  Japanese  officer  at  last  turned  to  re- 
sume his  promenade,  he  noticed  a  white-faced  girl 
gripping  a  stanchion  behind  him  as  though  she  were 
on  the  point  of  swooning.  He  crossed  the  deck 
quickly.  Tressa  Nome's  eyes  opened. 

"Are  you  ill,  Miss  Nome?"  he  asked. 

"The — the  Dragon,"  she  whispered. 

The  officer  laughed.  "Why,  that  was  nothing  but 
Chinese  day-fireworks,"  he  explained.  "The  crew 
of  some  fishing  boat  yonder  in  the  fog  is  amusing 
Itself."  He  looked  at  her  narrowly,  then  with  a 
nice  little  bow  and  smile  he  offered  his  arm :  "If  you 
are  indisposed,  perhaps  you  might  wish  to  go  below 
to  your  stateroom,  Miss  Nome?" 

She  thanked  him,  managed  to  pull  herself  together 
and  force  a  ghost  of  a  smile. 

He  lingered  a  moment,  said  something  cheerful 
about  being  nearly  home,  then  made  her  a  punc- 
tilious salute  and  went  his  way. 

Tressa  Nome  leaned  back  against  the  stanchion 
and  closed  her  eyes.  Her  pallor  became  deathly.  She 
bent  over  and  laid  her  white  face  in  her  folded  arms. 

After  a  while  she  lifted  her  head,  and,  turning 
very  slowly,  stared  at  the  fog-belt  out  of  frightened 
eyes. 

And  saw,  rising  out  of  the  fog,  a  pearl-tinted 
sphere  which  gradually  mounted  into  the  clear  day- 
light above  like  the  full  moon's  phantom  in  the  sky. 

Higher,  higher  rose  the  spectral  moon  until  at 
last  it  swam  in  the  very  zenith.  Then  it  slowly  evap- 
orated in  the  blue  vault  above. 


20  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

A  great  wave  of  despair  swept  her;  she  clung  to 
the  stanchion,  staring  with  half-blinded  eyes  at  the 
flat  fog-bank  in  the  south. 

But  no  more  "Chinese  day-fireworks"  rose  out  of 
it.  And  at  length  she  summoned  sufficient  strength 
to  go  below  to  her  cabin  and  lie  there,  half  sense- 
less, huddled  on  her  bed. 

When  land  was  sighted,  the  following  morning, 
Tressa  Nome  had  lived  a  century  in  twenty-four 
hours.  And  in  that  space  of  time  her  agonised  soul 
had  touched  all  depths. 

But  now  as  the  Golden  Gate  loomed  up  in  the 
morning  light,  rage,  terror,  despair  had  burned 
themselves  out.  From  their  ashes  within  her  mind 
arose  the  cool  wrath  of  desperation  armed  for  any- 
thing, wary,  alert,  passionately  determined  to  sur- 
vive at  whatever  cost,  recklessly  ready  to  fight  for 
bodily  existence. 

That  was  her  sole  instinct  now,  to  go  on  living,  to 
survive,  no  matter  at  what  price.  And  if  it  were 
indeed  true  that  her  soul  had  been  slain,  she  defied 
its  murderers  to  slay  her  body  also. 

That  night,  at  her  hotel  in  San  Francisco,  she 
double-locked  her  door  and  lay  down  without  un- 
dressing, leaving  all  lights  burning  and  an  automatic 
pistol  underneath  her  pillow. 

Toward  morning  she  fell  asleep,  slept  for  an 
hour,  started  up  in  awful  fear.  And  saw  the  double- 


THE  YEZIDEE  21 

locked  door  opposite  the  foot  of  her  bed  slowly 
opening  of  its  own  accord. 

Into  the  brightly  illuminated  room  stepped  a 
graceful  young  man  in  full  evening  dress  carrying 
over  his  left  arm  an  overcoat,  and  in  his  other  hand 
a  top  hat  and  silver  tipped  walking-stick. 

With  one  bound  the  girl  swung  herself  from  the 
bed  to  the  carpet  and  clutched  at  the  pistol  under 
her  pillow. 

"Sanang!"  she  cried  in  a  terrible  voice. 

"Keuke  Mongol!"  he  said,  smilingly. 

For  a  moment  they  confronted  each  other  in  the 
brightly  lighted  bedroom,  then,  partly  turning,  he 
cast  a  calm  glance  at  the  open  door  behind  him ;  and, 
as  though  moved  by  a  wind,  the  door  slowly  closed. 
And  she  heard  the  key  turn  of  itself  in  the  lock,  and 
saw  the  bolt  slide  smoothly  into  place  again. 

Her  power  of  speech  came  back  to  her  presently 
— only  a  broken  whisper  at  first :  "Do  you  think  I 
am  afraid  of  your  accursed  magic?"  she  managed 
to  gasp.  "Do  you  think  I  am  afraid  of  you, 
Sanang?" 

"You  are  afraid,"  he  said  serenely. 

"You  lie!" 

"No,  I  do  not  lie.  To  one  another  the  Yezidees 
never  lie." 

"You  lie  again,  assassin!    I  am  no  Yezidee!" 

He  smiled  gently.  His  features  were  pleasing, 
smooth,  and  regular;  his  cheek-bones  high,  his  skin 
fine  and  of  a  pale  and  delicate  ivory  colour.  Once 
his  black,  beautifully  shaped  eyes  wandered  to  the 


22  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

levelled  pistol  which  she  now  held  clutched  desper- 
ately close  to  her  right  hip,  and  a  slightly  ironical 
expression  veiled  his  gaze  for  an  instant. 

"Bullets?"  he  murmured.  "But  you  and  I  are  of 
the  Hassanis." 

"The  third  lie,  Sanang!"  Her  voice  had  regained 
its  strength.  Tense,  alert,  blue  eyes  ablaze,  every 
faculty  concentrated  on  the  terrible  business  before 
her,  the  girl  now  seemed  like  some  supple  leopardess 
poised  on  the  swift  verge  of  murder. 

"Tokhta!"*  She  spat  the  word.  "Any  move- 
ment toward  a  hidden  weapon,  any  gesture  suggest- 
ing recourse  to  magic — and  I  kill  you,  Sanang,  ex- 
actly where  you  stand!" 

"With  a  pistol?"  He  laughed.  Then  his  smooth 
features  altered  subtly.  He  said:  "Keuke  Mongol, 
who  call  yourself  Tressa  Nome, — Keuke — heavenly 
azure-blue, — named  so  in  the  temple  because  of  the 
colour  of  your  eyes — listen  attentively,  for  this  is  the 
Yarlig  which  I  bring  to  you  by  word  of  mouth  from 
Yian,  as  from  Yezidee  to  Yezidee : 

"Here,  in  this  land  called  the  United  States  of 
America,  the  Temple  girl,  Keuke  Mongol,  who  has 
witnessed  the  mysteries  of  Erlik  and  who  under- 
stands the  magic  of  the  Sheiks-el-Djebel,  and  who 
has  seen  Mount  Alamout  and  the  eight  castles  and 
the  fifty  thousand  Hassanis  in  white  turbans  and  in 
robes  of  white; — you — Azure-blue  eyes — heed  the 
Yarlig! — or  may  thirty  thousand  calamities  over- 
take you !" 

*"Look  out!"     Nomad-Mongol  dialect. 


THE  YEZIDEE  23 

There  was  a  dead  silence;  then  he  went  on  seri- 
ously: "It  is  decreed:  You  shall  cease  to  remember 
that  you  are  a  Yezidee,  that  you  are  of  the  Has- 
sanis,  that  you  ever  have  laid  eyes  on  Yian  the  Beau- 
tiful, that  you  ever  set  naked  foot  upon  Mount  Ala- 
mout.  It  is  decreed  that  you  remember  nothing  of 
what  you  have  seen  and  heard,  of  what  has  been 
told  and  taught  during  the  last  four  years  reckoned 
as  the  Christians  reckon  from  our  Year  of  the  Bull. 
Otherwise — my  Master  sends  you  this  for  your — 
convenience." 

Leisurely,  from  under  his  folded  overcoat,  the 
young  man  produced  a  roll  of  white  cloth  and 
dropped  it  at  her  feet  and  the  girl  shrank  aside, 
shuddering,  knowing  that  the  roll  of  white  cloth 
was  meant  for  her  winding-sheet. 

Then  the  colour  came  back  to  lip  and  cheek;  and, 
glancing  up  from  the  soft  white  shroud,  she  smiled 
at  the  young  man:  "Have  you  ended  your  Oriental 
mummery?"  she  asked  calmly.  "Listen  very  seri- 
ously in  your  turn,  Sanang,  Sheik-el-Djebel,  Prince 
of  the  Hassanis  who,  God  knows  when  and  how, 
have  come  out  into  the  sunshine  of  this  clean  and 
decent  country,  out  of  a  filthy  darkness  where  devils 
and  sorcerers  make  earth  a  hell. 

"If  you,  or  yours,  threaten  me,  annoy  me,  inter- 
fere with  me,  I  shall  go  to  our  civilised  police  and 
tell  all  I  know  concerning  the  Yezidees.  I  mean  to 
live.  Do  you  understand?  You  know  what  you 
have  done  to  me  and  mine.  I  come  back  to  my  own 
country  alone,  without  any  living  kin,  poor,  home- 


24  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

less,  friendless, — and,  perhaps,  damned.  I  intend, 
nevertheless,  to  survive.  I  shall  not  relax  my  clutch 
on  bodily  existence  whatever  the  Yezidees  may  pre- 
tend to  have  done  to  my  soul.  I  am  determined  to 
live  in  the  body,  anyway." 

He  nodded  gravely. 

She  said:  "Out  at  sea,  over  the  fog,  I  saw  the  sign 
of  Yu-lao  in  fire  floating  in  the  day-sky.  I  saw  his 
spectral  moon  rise  and  vanish  in  mid-heaven.  I  un- 
derstood. But "  And  here  she  suddenly  showed 

an  edge  of  teeth  under  the  full  scarlet  upper  lip : 
"Keep  your  signs  and  your  shrouds  to  yourself,  dog 
of  a  Yezidee! — toad! — tortoise-egg! — he-goat  with 
three  legs !  Keep  your  threats  and  your  messages  to 
yourself!  Keep  your  accursed  magic  to  yourself! 
Do  you  think  to  frighten  me  with  your  sorcery  by 
showing  me  the  Moons  of  Yu-lao? — by  opening  a 
bolted  door?  I  know  more  of  such  magic  than  do 
you,  Sanang — Death  Adder  of  Alamout!" 

Suddenly  she  laughed  aloud  at  him — laughed  in- 
sultingly in  his  expressionless  face : 

"I  saw  you  and  Gutchlug  Khan  and  your  cowardly 
Tchortchas  in  red-lacquered  jackets  slink  out  of  the 
Temple  of  Erlik  where  the  bronze  gong  thundered 
and  a  cloud  settled  down  raining  little  yellow  snakes 
all  over  the  marble  steps — all  over  you,  Prince 
Sanang !  You  were  afraid,  my  Tougtchi ! — you  and 
Gutchlug  and  your  red  Tchortchas  with  their  hal- 
berds all  dripping  with  human  entrails !  And  I  saw 
you  mount  and  gallop  off  into  the  woods  while  in 
the  depths  of  the  magic  cloud  which  rained  little 


THE  YEZIDEE  25 

yellow  snakes  all  around  you,  we  temple  girls  laughed 
and  mocked  at  you — at  you  and  your  cowardly 
Tchortcha  horsemen." 

A  slight  tinge  of  pink  came  into  the  young  man's 
pale  face.  Tressa  Nome  stepped  nearer,  her  levelled 
pistol  resting  on  her  hip. 

"Why  did  you  not  complain  of  us  to  your  Master, 
the  Old  Man  of  the  Mountain?"  she  asked  jeeringly. 
"And  where,  also,  was  your  Yezidee  magic  when  it 
rained  little  snakes  ? — What  frightened  you  away — 
who  had  boldly  come  to  seize  a  temple  girl — you 
who  had  screwed  up  your  courage  sufficiently  to  defy 
Erlik  in  his  very  shrine  and  snatch  from  his  temple 
a  young  thing  whose  naked  body  wrapped  in  gold 
was  worth  the  chance  of  death  to  you?" 

The  young  man's  top-hat  dropped  to  the  floor. 
He  bent  over  to  pick  it  up.  His  face  was  quite  ex- 
pressionless, quite  colourless,  now. 

"I  went  on  no  such  errand,"  he  said  with  an  effort. 
"I  went  with  a  thousand  prayers  on  scarlet  paper 
made  in " 

"A  lie,  Yezidee !    You  came  to  seize  me!" 

He  turned  still  paler.  "By  Abu,  Omar,  Otman, 
and  Ali,  it  is  not  true !" 

"You  lie ! — by  the  Lion  of  God,  Hassini !" 

She  stepped  closer.  "And  I'll  tell  you  another 
thing  you  fear — you  Yezidee  of  Alamout — you  rob- 
ber of  Yian — you  sorcerer  of  Sabbah  Khan,  and  chief 
of  his  sect  of  Assassins !  You  fear  this  native  land 
of  mine,  America ;  and  its  laws  and  customs,  and  its 
clear,  clean  sunshine;  and  its  cities  and  people;  and 


26  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

its  police !  Take  that  message  back.  We  Americans 
fear  nobody  save  the  true  God! — nobody — neither 
Yezidee  nor  Hassani  nor  Russ  nor  German  nor  that 
sexless  monster  born  of  hell  and  called  the  Bol- 
shevik!" 

"Tokhta !"  he  cried  sharply. 

"Damn  you!"  retorted  the  girl;  "get  out  of 
my  room!  Get  out  of  my  sight!  Get  out  of  my 
path !  Get  out  of  my  life !  Take  that  to  your  Mas- 
ter of  Mount  Alamout !  I  do  what  I  please ;  I  go 
where  I  please ;  I  live  as  I  please.  And  if  I  please,  / 
turn  against  htm!" 

"In  that  event,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "there  Ties  your 
winding-sheet  on  the  floor  at  your  feet!  Take  up 
your  shroud;  and  make  Erlik  seize  you !" 

"Sanang,"  she  said  very  seriously. 

"I  hear  you,  Keuke-Mongol." 

"Listen  attentively.  I  wish  to  live.  I  have  had 
enough  of  death  in  life.  I  desire  to  remain  a  living, 
breathing  thing — even  if  it  be  true — as  you  Yezidees 
tell  me,  that  you  have  caught  my  soul  in  a  net  and 
that  your  sorcerers  really  control  its  destiny. 

"But  damned  or  not,  I  passionately  desire  to  live. 
And  I  am  coward  enough  to  hold  my  peace  for  the 
sake  of  living.  So— I  remain  silent.  I  have  no 
stomach  to  defy  the  Yezidees;  because,  if  I  do, 
sooner  or  later  I  shall  be  killed.  I  know  it.  I  have 
no  desire  to  die  for  others — to  perish  for  the  sake 
of  the  common  good.  I  am  young.  I  have  suffered 
too  much;  I  am  determined  to  live — and  let  my  soul 
take  its  chances  between  God  and  Erlik." 


THE  YEZIDEE  27 

She  came  close  to  him,  looked  curiously  into  his 
pale  face. 

"I  laughed  at  you  out  of  the  temple  cloud,"  she 
said.  "I  know  how  to  open  bolted  doors  as  well 
as  you  do.  And  I  know  other  things.  And  if  you 
ever  again  come  to  me  in  this  life  I  shall  first  torture 
you,  then  slay  you.  Then  I  shall  tell  all !  ...  and 
unroll  my  shroud." 

"I  keep  your  word  of  promise  until  you  break  it," 
he  interrupted  hastily.  "Yarlig!  It  is  decreed!" 
And  then  he  slowly  turned  as  though  to  glance  over 
his  shoulder  at  the  locked  and  bolted  door. 

"Permit  me  to  open  it  for  you,  Prince  Sanang," 
said  the  girl  scornfully.  And  she  gazed  steadily  at 
the  door. 

Presently,  all  by  itself,  the  key  turned  in  the  lock, 
the  bolt  slid  back,  the  door  gently  opened. 

Toward  it,  white  as  a  corpse,  his  overcoat  on  his 
left  arm,  his  stick  and  top-hat  in  the  other  hand,  crept 
the  young  man  in  his  faultless  evening  garb. 

Then,  as  he  reached  the  threshold,  he  suddenly 
sprang  aside.  A  small  yellow  snake  lay  coiled  there 
on  the  door  sill.  For  a  full  throbbing  minute  the 
young  man  stared  at  the  yellow  reptile  in  unfeigned 
horror.  Then,  very  cautiously,  he  moved  his  fas- 
cinated eyes  sideways  and  gazed  in  silence  at  Tressa 
Nome. 

The  girl  laughed. 

"Sorceress!"  he  burst  out  hoarsely.  "Take  that 
accurseo!  thing  from  my  path!" 

"What  thing,  Sanang?"    At  that  his  dark,  fright- 


28  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

ened  eyes  stole  toward  the  threshold  again,  seeking 
the  little  snake.  But  there  was  no  snake  there.  And 
when  he  was  certain  of  this  he  went,  twitching  and 
trembling  all  over. 

Behind  him  the  door  closed  softly,  locking  and 
bolting  itself. 

And  behind  the  bolted  door  in  the  brightly  lighted 
bedroom  Tressa  Nome  fell  on  both  knees,  her  pistol 
still  clutched  in  her  right  hand,  calling  passionately 
upon  Christ  to  forgive  her  for  the  dreadful  ability 
she  had  dared  to  use,  and  begging  Him  to  save  her 
body  from  death  and  her  soul  from  the  snare  of  the 
Yezidee. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  YELLOW  SNAKE 

WHEN  the  young  man  named  Sanang  left  the 
bed-chamber  of  Tressa  Nome  he  turned  to 
the  right  in  the  carpeted  corridor  outside 
and  hurried  toward  the  hotel  elevator.  But  he  did 
not  ring  for  the  lift;  instead  he  took  the  spiral  iron 
stairway  which  circled  it,  and  mounted  hastily  to  the 
floor  above. 

Here  was  his  own  apartment  and  he  entered  it 
with  a  key  bearing  the  hotel  tag.  A  dusky-skinned 
powerful  old  man  wearing  a  grizzled  beard  and  a 
greasy  broadcloth  coat  of  old-fashioned  cut  known 
to  provincials  as  a  "Prince  Albert"  looked  up  from 
where  he  was  seated  cross-legged  upon  the  sofa, 
sharpening  a  curved  knife  on  a  whetstone. 

"Gutchlug,"  stammered  Sanang,  "I  am  afraid 
of  her  I  What  happened  two  years  ago  at  the  temple 
happened  again  a  moment  since,  there  in  her  very 
bedroom!  She  made  a  yellow  death-adder  out  of 
nothing  and  placed  it  upon  the  threshold,  and  mocked 
me  with  laughter.  May  Thirty  Thousand  Calami- 
ties overtake  her!  May  Erlik  seize  her!  May  her 
29 


30  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

eyes  rot  out  and  her  limbs  fester!  May  the  seven 
score  and  three  principal  devils " 

"You  chatter  like  a  temple  ape,"  said  Gutchlug 
tranquilly.  "Does  Keuke  Mongol  die  or  live?  That 
alone  interests  me." 

"Gutchlug,"  faltered  the  young  man,  "thou  know- 
est  that  m-my  heart  is  inclined  to  mercy  toward  this 
young  Yezidee " 

"I  know  that  it  is  inclined  to  lust,"  said  the  other 
bluntly. 

Sanang's  pale  face  flamed. 

"Listen,"  he  said.  "If  I  had  not  loved  her  better 
than  life  had  I  dared  go  that  day  to  the  temple  to 
take  her  for  my  own?" 

"You  loved  life  better,"  said  Gutchlug.  "You  fled 
when  it  rained  snakes  on  the  temple  steps — you  and 
your  Tchortcha  horsemen !  Kai !  I  also  ran.  But 
I  gave  every  soldier  thirty  blows  with  a  stick  before 
I  slept  that  night.  And  you  should  have  had  your 
thirty,  also,  conforming  to  the  Yarlig,  my  Tougtchi." 

Sanang,  still  holding  his  hat  and  cane  and  carrying 
his  overcoat  over  his  left  arm,  looked  down  at  the 
heavy,  brutal  features  of  Gutchlug  Khan — at  the 
cruel  mouth  with  its  crooked  smile  under  the  grizzled 
beard;  at  the  huge  hands — the  powerful  hands  of 
a  murderer — now  deftly  honing  to  a  razor-edge  the 
Kalmuck  knife  held  so  firmly  yet  lightly  in  his  great 
blunt  fingers. 

"Listen  attentively,  Prince  Sanang,"  growled 
Gutchlug,  pausing  in  his  monotonous  task  to  test  the 


THE  YELLOW  SNAKE  31 

blade's  edge  on  his  thumb — "Does  the  Yezidee 
Keuke  Mongol  live?  Yes  or  no?" 

Sanang  hesitated,  moistened  his  pallid  lips.  "She 
dares  not  betray  us." 

"By  what  pledge?" 

"Fear." 

"That  is  no  pledge.  You  also  were  afraid,  yet  you 
went  to  the  temple !" 

"She  has  listened  to  the  Yarlig.  She  has  looked 
upon  her  shroud.  She  has  admitted  that  she  desires 
to  live.  Therein  lies  her  pledge  to  us." 

"And  she  placed  a  yellow  snake  at  your  feet!" 
sneered  Gutchlug.  "Prince  Sanang,  tell  me,  what 
man  or  what  devil  in  all  the  chronicles  of  the  past  has 
ever  tamed  a  Snow-Leopard?"  And  he  continued  to 
hone  his  yataghan. 

"Gutchlug " 

"No,  she  dies,"  said  the  other  tranquilly. 

"Not  yet!" 

"When,  then?" 

"Gutchlug,  thou  knowest  me.  Hear  my  pledge ! 
At  her  first  gesture  toward  treachery — her  first 
thought  of  betrayal — I  myself  will  end  it  all." 

"You  promise  to  slay  this  young  snow-leop- 
ardess?" 

"By  the  four  companions,  I  swear  to  kill  her  with 
my  own  hands !" 

Gutchlug  sneered.  "Kill  her — yes — with  the  kiss 
that  has  burned  thy  lips  to  ashes  for  all  these  months. 


32  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

I  know  thee,  Sanang.  Leave  her  to  me.  Dead  she 
will  no  longer  trouble  thee." 

"Gutchlug!" 

"I  hear,  Prince  Sanang." 

"Strike  when  I  nod.    Not  until  then." 

"I  hear,  Tougtchi.  I  understand  thee,  my  Ban- 
neret. I  whet  my  knife.  Kai!" 

Sanang  looked  at  him,  put  on  his  top-hat  and  over- 
coat, pulled  on  a  pair  of  white  evening  gloves. 

"I  go  forth,"  he  said  more  pleasantly. 

"I  remain  here  to  talk  to  my  seven  ancestors  and 
sharpen  my  knife,"  remarked  Gutchlug. 

"When  the  white  world  and  the  yellow  world  and 
the  brown  world  and  the  black  world  finally  fall  be- 
fore the  Hassanis,"  said  Sanang  with  a  quick  smile, 
"I  shall  bring  thee  to  her.  Gutchlug — once — before 
she  is  veiled,  thou  shalt  behold  what  is  lovelier  than 
Eve." 

The  other  stolidly  whetted  his  knife. 

Sanang  pulled  out  a  gold  cigarette  case,  lighted 
a  cigarette  with  an  air. 

"I  go  among  Germans,"  he  volunteered  amiably. 
"The  huns  swam  across  two  oceans,  but,  like  the 
unclean  swine,  it  is  their  own  throats  they  cut  when 
they  swim !  Well,  there  is  only  one  God.  And  not 
very  many  angels.  Erlik  is  greater.  And  there  are 
many  million  devils  to  do  his  bidding.  Adieu. 
There  is  rice  and  there  is  koumiss  in  the  frozen 
closet.  When  I  return  you  shall  have  been  asleep  for 
hours." 


THE  YELLOW  SNAKE  33 

When  Sanang  left  the  hotel  one  of  two  young  men 
seated  in  the  hotel  lobby  got  up  and  strolled  out 
after  him. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  other  man  went  to  the 
elevator,  ascended  to  the  fourth  floor,  and  entered 
an  apartment  next  to  the  one  occupied  by  Sanang. 

There  was  another  man  there,  lying  on  the  lounge 
and  smoking  a  cigar.  Without  a  word,  they  both 
went  leisurely  about  the  matter  of  disrobing  for  the 
night. 

When  the  shorter  man  who  had  been  in  the  apart- 
ment when  the  other  entered,  and  who  was  dark 
and  curly-headed,  had  attired  himself  in  pyjamas, 
he  sat  down  on  one  of  the  twin  beds  to  enjoy  his 
cigar  to  the  bitter  end. 

"Has  Sanang  gone  out?"  he  inquired  in  a  low 
voice. 

"Yes.     Benton  went  after  him." 

The  other  man  nodded.  "Cleves,"  he  said,  "I 
guess  it  looks  as  though  this  Nome  girl  is  in  it,  too." 

"What  happened?" 

"As  soon  as  she  arrived,  Sanang  made  straight 
for  her  apartment.  He  remained  inside  for  half 
an  hour.  Then  he  came  out  in  a  hurry  and  went 
to  his  own  rooms,  where  that  surly  servant  of  his. 
squats  all  day,  shining  up  his  arsenal,  and  drinking 
koumiss." 

"Did  you  get  their  conversation?" 

"I've  got  a  record  of  the  gibberish.  It  requires, 
an  interpreter,  of  course." 


34  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"I  suppose  so.  I'll  take  the  records  east  with 
me  to-morrow,  and  by  the  same  token  I'd  better 
notify  New  York  that  I'm  leaving." 

He  went,  half-undressed,  to  the  telephone,  got  the 
telegraph  office,  and  sent  the  following  message : 

"RECKLOW,  New  York: 

"Leaving  to-morrow  for  N.  Y.  with  samples.  Re- 
tain expert  in  Oriental  fabrics. 

"VICTOR  CLEVES." 

"Report  for  me,  too,"  said  the  dark  young  man, 
who  was  still  enjoying  his  cigar  on  his  pillows. 

So  Cleves  sent  another  telegram,  directed  also  to 


"RECKLOW,  New  York: 

"Benton  and  I  are  watching  the  market.  Chinese 
importations  fluctuate.  Recent  consignment  per  Nan- 
yang  Maru  will  be  carefully  inspected  and  details 
forwarded. 

"ALEK  SELDEN." 


In  the  next  room  Gutchlug  could  hear  the  voice 
of  Cleves  at  the  telephone,  but  he  merely  shrugged 
his  heavy  shoulders  in  contempt.  For  he  had  other 
things  to  do  beside  eavesdropping. 

Also,  for  the  last  hour — in  fact,  ever  since 
Sanang's  departure — something  had  been  happening 
to  him — something  that  happens  to  a  Hassani  only 
once  in  a  lifetime.  And  now  this  unique  thing  had 
happened  to  him — to  him,  Gutchlug  Khan — to  him 


THE  YELLOW  SNAKE  35 

before  whose  Khiounnou  ancestors  eighty-one  thou- 
sand nations  had  bowed  the  knee. 

It  had  come  to  him  at  last,  this  dread  thing,  un- 
heralded, totally  unexpected,  a  few  minutes  after 
Sanang  had  departed. 

And  he  suddenly  knew  he  was  going  to  die. 

And,  when,  presently,  he  comprehended  it,  he  bent 
his  grizzled  head  and  listened  seriously.  And,  after 
a  little  silence,  he  heard  his  soul  bidding  him  fare- 
well. 

So  the  chatter  of  white  men  at  a  telephone  in  the 
next  apartment  had  no  longer  any  significance  for 
him.  Whether  or  not  they  had  been  spying  on  him ; 
whether  they  were  plotting,  made  no  difference  to 
him  now. 

He  tested  his  knife's  edge  with  his  thumb  and 
listened  gravely  to  his  soul  bidding  him  farewell. 

But,  for  a  Yezidee,  there  was  still  a  little  detail 
to  attend  to  before  his  soul  departed; — two  matters 
to  regulate.  One  was  to  select  his  shroud.  The 
other  was  to  cut  the  white  throat  of  this  young  snow- 
leopardess  called  Keuke  Mongol,  the  Yezidee  temple 
girl. 

And  he  could  steal  down  to  her  bedroom  and  finish 
that  matter  in  five  minutes. 

But  first  he  must  choose  his  shroud,  as  is  the 
custom  of  the  Yezidee. 

That  office,  however,  was  quickly  accomplished  in 
a  country  where  fine  white  sheets  of  linen  are  to  be 
found  on  every  hotel  bed. 


36  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

So,  on  his  way  to  the  door,  his  naked  knife  in 
his  right  hand,  he  paused  to  fumble  under  the  bed- 
covers and  draw  out  a  white  linen  sheet. 

Something  hurt  his  hand  like  a  needle.  He  moved 
it,  felt  the  thing  squirm  under  his  fingers  and  pierce 
his  palm  again  and  again.  With  a  shriek,  he  tore  the 
bedclothes  from  the  bed. 

A  little  yellow  snake  lay  coiled  there. 

He  got  as  far  as  the  telephone,  but  could  not  use 
it.  And  there  he  fell  heavily,  shaking  the  room  and 
dragging  the  instrument  down  with  him. 

There  was  some  excitement.  Cleves  and  Selden 
in  their  bathrobes  went  in  to  look  at  the  body.  The 
hotel  physician  diagnosed  it  as  heart-trouble.  Or, 
possibly,  poison.  Some  gazed  significantly  at  the 
naked  knife  still  clutched  in  the  dead  man's  hands. 

Around  the  wrist  of  the  other  hand  was  twisted 
a  pliable  gold  bracelet  representing  a  little  snake.  It 
had  real  emeralds  for  eyes. 

It  had  not  been  there  when  Gutchlug  died. 

But  nobody  except  Sanang  could  know  that.  And 
later  when  Sanang  came  back  and  found  Gutchlug 
very  dead  on  the  bed  and  a  policeman  sitting  outside, 
he  offered  no  information  concerning  the  new  brace- 
let shaped  like  a  snake  with  real  emeralds  for  eyes, 
which  adorned  the  dead  man's  left  wrist. 

Toward  evening,  however,  after  an  autopsy  had 
confirmed  the  house  physician's  diagnosis  that  heart- 
disease  had  finished  Gutchlug,  Sanang  mustered 


THE  YELLOW  SNAKE  37 

enough  courage  to  go  to  the  desk  in  the  lobby  and 
send  up  his  card  to  Miss  Nome. 

It  appeared,  however,  that  Miss  Nome  had  left 
for  Chicago  about  noon. 


CHAPTER  III 

GREY  MAGIC 

)  Victor  Cleves  came  the  following  telegram 
in  code: 

"Washington, 

"April  1 4th.  iQig. 

"Investigation  ordered  by  the  State  Department 
as  the  result  of  frequent  mention  in  despatches  of 
Chinese  troops  operating  with  the  Russian  Bolshe- 
viki forces  ha\s  disclosed  that  the  Bolsheviki  are  actu- 
ally raising  a  Chinese  division  of  30,000  men  re- 
cruited in  Central  Asia.  This  division  has  been 
guilty  of  the  greatest  cruelties.  A  strange  rumour 
prevails  among  the  Allied  forces  at  Archangel  that 
this  Chinese  division  is  led  by  Yezidee  and  Hassani 
officers  belonging  to  the  sect  of  devil-worshipers  and 
that  they  employ  black  arts  and  magic  in  battle. 

"From  information  so  far  gathered  by  the  sev- 
eral branches  of  the  United  States  Secret  Service 
operating  throughout  the  world,  it  appears  possible 
that  the  various  revolutionary  forces  of  disorder,  in 
Europe  and  Asia,  which  now  are  violently  threaten- 
ing the  peace  and  security,  of  all  established  civilisa- 
tion on  earth,  may  have  had  a  common  origin.  This 
origin,  it  is  now  suspected,  may  date  back  to  a  very 
remote  epoch;  the  wide-spread  forces  of  violence 
and  merciless  destruction  may  have  had  their  begin- 
38 


GREY  MAGIC  39 

ning  among  some  ancient  and  predatory  race  whose 
existence  was  maintained  solely  by  robbery  and  mur- 
der. 

t( Anarchists,  terrorists,  Bolshevists,  Reds  of  all 
shades  and  degrees,  are  now  believed  to  represent  in 
modern  times  what  perhaps  once  was  a  tribe  of 
Assassins — a  sect  whose  religion  was  founded  upon 
a  common  predilection  for  crimes  of  violence. 

"On  this  theory  then,  for  the  present,  the  United 
States  Government  will  proceed  with  this  investiga- 
tion of  Bolshevism;  and  the  Secret  Service  will  con- 
tinue to  pay  particular  attention  to  all  Orientals  in 
the  United  States  and  other  countries.  You  person- 
ally are  formally  instructed  to  keep  in  touch  with 
XLY-37I  (Alek  Selden)  and  ZB-jos  (James  Ben- 
ton),  and  to  employ  every  possible  means  to  become 
friendly  with  the  girl  Tressa  Nome,  win  her  confi- 
dence, mid,  if  possible,  enlist  her  actively  in  the  Gov- 
ernment Service  as  your  particular  aid  and  comrade. 

"It  is  equally  important  that  the  movements  of  the 
Oriental,  called  Sanang,  be  carefully  observed  in  or- 
der to  discover  the  identity  and  whereabouts  of  his 
companions.  However,  until  further  instructions  he 
is  not  to  be  taken  into  custody.  M.  H.  2479. 

"(Signed) 

"(JOHN  RECKLOW.)" 

The  long  despatch  from  John  Recklow  made 
Cleves's  duty  plain  enough. 

For  months,  now,  Selden  and  Benton  had  been 
watching  Tressa  Nome.  And  they  had  learned 
practically  nothing  about  her. 

And  now  the  girl  had  come  within  Cleves's  sphere 
of  operation.  She  had  been  in  New  York  for  two 
weeks.  Telegrams  from  Benton  in  Chicago,  and 


40  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

from  Selden  in  Buffalo,  had  prepared  him  for  her 
arrival. 

He  had  his  men  watching  her  boarding-house  on 
West  Twenty-eighth  Street,  men  to  follow  her,  men 
to  keep  their  eyes  on  her  at  the  theatre,  where  every 
evening,  at  10 145,  her  entr'acte  was  staged.  He  knew 
where  to  get  her.  But  he,  himself,  had  been  on  the 
watch  for  the  man  Sanang;  and  had  failed  to  find 
the  slightest  trace  of  him  in  New  York,  although 
warned  that  he  had  arrived. 

So,  for  that  evening,  he  left  the  hunt  for  Sanang 
to  others,  put  on  his  evening  clothes,  and  dined  with 
fashionable  friends  at  the  Patroons'  Club,  who  never 
for  an  instant  suspected  that  young  Victor  Cleves 
was  in  the  Service  of  the  United  States  Government. 
About  half-past  nine  he  strolled  around  to  the 
theatre,  desiring  to  miss  as  much  as  possible  of  the 
popular  show  without  being  too  late  to  see  the  curious 
little  entr'acte  in  which  this  girl,  Tressa  Nome,  ap- 
peared alone. 

He  had  secured  an  aisle  seat  near  the  stage  at  an 
outrageous  price;  the  main  show  was  still  thunder- 
ing and  fizzing  and  glittering  as  he  entered  the 
theatre;  so  he  stood  in  the  rear  behind  the  orchestra 
until  the  descending  curtain  extinguished  the  out- 
rageous glare  and  din. 

Then  he  went  down  the  aisle,  and  as  he  seated 
himself  Tressa  Nome  stepped  from  the  wings  and 
stood  before  the  lowered  curtain  facing  an  expectant 
but  oddly  undemonstrative  audience. 


GREY  MAGIC  41 

The  girl  worked  rapidly,  seriously,  and  in  silence. 
She  seemed  a  mere  child  there  behind  the  footlights, 
not  more  than  sixteen  anyway — her  winsome  eyes 
and  wistful  lips  unspoiled  by  the  world's  wisdom. 

Yet  once  or  twice  the  mouth  drooped  for  a  second 
and  the  winning  eyes  darkened  to  a  remoter  blue — 
the  brooding  iris  hue  of  far  horizons. 

She  wore  the  characteristic  tabard  of  stiff  golden 
tissue  and  the  gold  pagoda-shaped  headpiece  of  a 
Yezidee  temple  girl.  Her  flat,  slipper-shaped  foot- 
gear was  of  stiff  gold,  too,  and  curled  upward  at  the 
toes. 

All  this  accentuated  her  apparent  youth.  For  in 
face  and  throat  no  firmer  contours  had  as  yet  modi- 
fied the  soft  fullness  of  immaturity;  her  limbs  were 
boyish  and  frail,  and  her  bosom  more  undecided  still, 
so  that  the  embroidered  breadth  of  gold  fell  flat  and 
straight  from  her  chest  to  a  few  inches  above  the 
ankles. 

She  seemed  to  have  no  stock  of  paraphernalia  with 
which  to  aid  the  performance;  no  assistant,  no  or- 
chestral diversion,  nor  did  she  serve  herself  with 
any  magician's  patter.  She  did  her  work  close  to 
the  footlights. 

Behind  her  loomed  a  black  curtain;  the  strip  of 
stage  in  front  was  bare  even  of  carpet;  the  orches- 
tra remained  mute. 

But  when  she  needed  anything — a  little  table,  for 
example — well,  it  was  suddenly  there  where  she  re- 
quired it — a  tripod,  for  instance,  evidently  fitted 


42  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

to  hold  the  big  iridescent  bubble  of  glass  in 
which  swarmed  little  tropical  fishes — and  which 
arrived  neatly  from  nowhere.  She  merely  placed 
her  hands  before  her  as  though  ready  to  support 
something  weighty  which  she  expected  and — sud- 
denly, the  huge  crystal  bubble  was  visible,  resting 
between  her  hands.  And  when  she  tired  of  holding 
it,  she  set  it  upon  the  empty  air  and  let  go  of  it; 
and  instead  of  crashing  to  the  stage  with  its  finny 
rainbow  swarm  of  swimmers,  out  of  thin  air  ap- 
peared a  tripod  to  support  it. 

Applause  followed,  not  very  enthusiastic,  for  the 
sort  of  audience  which  sustains  the  shows  of  which 
her  performance  was  merely  an  entr'acte  is  an  au- 
dience responsive  only  to  the  obvious. 

Nobody  ever  before  had  seen  that  sort  of  magic 
in  America.  People  scarcely  knew  whether  or  not 
they  quite  liked  it.  The  lightning  of  innovation  stu- 
pefies the  dull;  ignorance  is  always  suspicious  of  in- 
novation— always  afraid  to  put  itself  on  record  until 
its  mind  is  made  up  by  somebody  else. 

So  in  this  typical  New  York  audience  approbation 
was  cautious,  but  every  fascinated  eye  remained 
focused  on  this  young  girl  who  continued  to  do  in- 
credible things,  which  seemed  to  resemble  "putting 
something  over"  on  them;  a  thing  which  no  unedu- 
cated American  conglomeration  ever  quite  forgives. 

The  girl's  silence,  too,  perplexed  them ;  they  were 
accustomed  to  gabble,  to  noise,  to  jazz,  vocal  and 
instrumental,  to  that  incessant  metropolitan  clamour 


GREY  MAGIC  43 

which  fills  every  second  with  sound  in  a  city  whose 
only  distinction  is  its  din.  Stage,  press,  art,  letters, 
social  existence  unless  noisy  mean  nothing  in  Goth- 
am; reticence,  leisure,  repose  are  the  three  lost  arts. 
The  megaphone  is  the  city's  symbol;  its  chief est 
crime,  silence. 

The  girl  having  finished  with  the  big  glass  bubble 
full  of  tiny  fish,  picked  it  up  and  tossed  it  aside.  For 
a  moment  it  apparently  floated  there  in  space  like 
a  soap-bubble.  Changing  rainbow  tints  waxed  and 
waned  on  the  surface,  growing  deeper  and  more  gor- 
geous until  the  floating  globe  glowed  scarlet,  then 
suddenly  burst  into  flame  and  vanished.  And  only  a 
strange,  sweet  perfume  lingered  in  the  air. 

But  she  gave  her  perplexed  audience  no  time  to 
wonder;  she  had  seated  herself  on  the  stage  and  was 
already  swiftly  busy  unfolding  a  white  veil  with 
which  she  presently  covered  herself,  draping  it  over 
her  like  a  tent. 

The  veil  seemed  to  be  translucent;  she  was  appar- 
ently visible  seated  beneath  it.  But  the  veil  turned 
into  smoke,  rising  into  the  air  in  a  thin  white  cloud; 
and  there,  where  she  had  been  seated,  was  a  statue 
of  white  stone  the  image  of  herself ! — in  all  the  frail 
springtide  of  early  adolescence — a  white  statue,  cold, 
opaque,  exquisite  in  its  sculptured  immobility. 

There  came,  the  next  moment,  a  sound  of  distant 
thunder;  flashes  lighted  the  blank  curtain;  and  sud- 
denly a  vein  of  lightning  and  a  sharper  peal  shattered 
the  statue  to  fragments. 


44.  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

There  they  lay,  broken  bits  of  her  own  sculptured 
body,  glistening  in  a  heap  behind  the  footlights. 
Then  each  fragment  began  to  shimmer  with  a  rosy 
internal  light  of  its  own,  until  the  pile  of  broken 
marble  glowed  like  living  coals  under  thickening  and 
reddening  vapours.  And,  presently,  dimly  percep- 
tible, there  she  was  in  the  flesh  again,  seated  in  the 
fiery  centre  of  the  conflagration,  stretching  her  arms 
luxuriously,  yawning,  seemingly  awakening  from  re- 
freshing slumber,  her  eyes  unclosing  to  rest  with  a 
sort  of  confused  apology  upon  her  astounded  au- 
dience. 

As  she  rose  to  her  feet  nothing  except  herself  re- 
mained on  the  stage — no  debris,  not  a  shred  of 
smoke,  not  a  spark. 

She  came  down,  then,  across  an  inclined  plank  into 
the  orchestra  among  the  audience. 

In  the  aisle  seat  nearest  her  sat  Victor  Cleves. 
His  business  was  to  be  there  that  evening.  But  she 
didn't  know  that,  knew  nothing  about  him — had 
never  before  set  eyes  on  him. 

At  her  gesture  of  invitation  he  made  a  cup  of  both 
his  hands.  Into  these  she  poured  a  double  handful 
of  unset  diamonds — or  what  appeared  to  be  dia- 
monds— pressed  her  own  hands  above  his  for  a 
second — and  the  diamonds  in  his  palms  had  become 
pearls. 

These  were  passed  around  to  people  in  the  vicinity, 
and  finally  returned  to  Mr.  Cleves,  who,  at  her  re- 
quest, covered  the  heap  of  pearls  with  both  his  hands, 
hiding  them  entirely  from  view. 


GREY  MAGIC  45 

At  her  nod  he  uncovered  them.  The  pearls  had 
become  emeralds.  Again,  while  he  held  them,  and 
without  even  touching  him,  she  changed  them  into 
rubies.  Then  she  turned  away  from  him,  apparently 
forgetting  that  he  still  held  the  gems,  and  he  sat 
very  still,  one  cupped  hand  over  the  other,  while  she 
poured  silver  coins  into  a  woman's  gloved  hands, 
turned  them  into  gold  coins,  then  flung  each  coin  into 
the  air,  where  it  changed  to  a  living,  fragrant  rose 
and  fell  among  the  audience. 

Presently  she  seemed  to  remember  Cleves,  came 
back  down  the  aisle,  and  under  his  close  and  intent 
gaze  drew  from  his  cupped  hands,  one  by  one,  a 
score  of  brilliant  little  living  birds,  which  continually 
flew  about  her  and  finally  perched,  twittering,  on  her 
golden  headdress — a  rainbow-crest  of  living  jewels. 

As  she  drew  the  last  warm,  breathing  little  feath- 
ered miracle  from  Cleves's  hands  and  released  it,  he 
said  rapidly  under  his  breath:  "I  want  a  word  with 
you  later.  Where?" 

She  let  her  clear  eyes  rest  on  him  for  a  moment, 
then  with  a  shrug  so  slight  that  it  was  perceptible, 
perhaps,  only  to  him,  she  moved  on  along  the  in- 
clined way,  stepped  daintily  over  the  footlights, 
caught  fire,  apparently,  nodded  to  a  badly  rattled 
audience,  and  sauntered  off,  burning  from  head  to 
foot. 

What  applause  there  was  became  merged  in  a 
dissonant  instrumental  outburst  from  the  orchestra; 
the  great  god  Jazz  resumed  direction,  the  mindless 


46  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

audience  breathed  freely  again  as  the  curtain  rose 
upon  a  familiar,  yelling  turbulence,  including  all  that 
Gotham  really  understands  and  cares  for — legs  and 
noise. 

Victor  Cleves  glanced  up  at  the  stage,  then  con- 
tinued to  study  the  name  of  the  girl  on  the  pro- 
gramme. It  was  featured  in  rather  pathetic  solitude 
under  "Entr'acte."  And  he  read  further:  "During 
the  entr'acte  Miss  Tressa  Nome  will  entertain  you 
with  several  phases  of  Black  Magic.  This 
strange  knowledge  was  acquired  by  Miss  Nome 
from  the  Yezidees,  among  which  almost  unknown 
people  still  remain  descendants  of  that  notorious  and 
formidable  historic  personage  known  in  the  twelfth 
century  as  The  Old  Man  of  the  Mountain — or  The 
Old  Man  of  Mount  Alamout. 

"The  pleasant  profession  of  this  historic  indi- 
vidual was  assassination;  and  some  historians  now 
believe  that  genuine  occult  power  played  a  part  in 
his  dreadful  record — a  record  which  terminated  only 
when  the  infantry  of  Genghis  Khan  took  Mount  Ala- 
mout by  storm  and  hanged  the  Old  Man  of  the 
Mountain  and  burned  his  body  under  a  boulder  of 
You-Stone. 

"For  Miss  Nome's  performance  there  appears  to 
be  no  plausible,  practical  or  scientific  explanation. 

"During  her  performance  the  curtain  will  remain 
lowered  for  fifteen  minutes  and  will  then  rise  on  the 
last  act  of  'You  Betcha  Life.'  " 

The  noisy  show  continued  while  Cleves,  paying  it 


GREY  MAGIC  47 

scant  attention,  brooded  over  the  programme.  And 
ever  his  keen,  grey  eyes  reverted  to  her  name,  Tressa 
Nome. 

Then,  for  a  little  while,  he  settled  back  and  let 
his  absent  gaze  wander  over  the  galloping  battalions 
of  painted  girls  and  the  slapstick  principals  whose 
perpetual  motion  evoked  screams  of  approbation 
from  the  audience  amid  the  din  of  the  great  god 
Jazz. 

He  had  an  aisle  seat;  he  disturbed  nobody  when 
he  went  out  and  around  to  the  stage  door. 

The  aged  man  on  duty  took  his  card,  called  a  boy 
and  sent  it  off.  The  boy  returned  with  the  card, 
saying  that  Miss  Nome  had  already  dressed  and  de- 
parted. 

Cleves  tipped  him  and  then  tipped  the  doorman 
heavily. 

"Where  does  she  live?"  he  asked. 

"Say,"  said  the  old  man,  "I  dunno,  and  that's 
straight.  But  them  ladies  mostly  goes  up  to  the 
roof  for  a  look  in  at  the  'Moonlight  Masnue'  and 
a  dance  afterward.  Was  you  ever  up  there?" 

"Yes." 

"Seen  the  new  show?" 

"No." 

"Well,  g'wan  up  while  you  can  get  a  table.  And 
I  bet  the  little  girl  will  be  somewheres  around." 

"The  little  girl"  was  "somewheres  around."  He 
secured  a  table,  turned  and  looked  about  at  the  vast 
cabaret  into  which  only  a  few  people  had  yet  filtered, 


48  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

and  saw  her  at  a  distance  in  the  carpeted  corridor 
buying  violets  from  one  of  the  flower-girls. 

A  waiter  placed  a  reserve  card  on  his  table ;  he  con- 
tinued on  around  the  outer  edge  of  the  auditorium. 

Miss  Nome  had  already  seated  herself  at  a  small 
table  in  the  rear,  and  a  waiter  was  serving  her  with 
iced  orange  juice  and  little  French  cakes. 

When  the  waiter  returned  Cleves  went  up  and 
took  off  his  hat. 

"May  I  talk  with  you  for  a  moment,  Miss 
Nome?"  he  said. 

The  girl  looked  up,  the  wheat-straw  still  between 
her  scarlet  lips.  Then,  apparently  recognising  in  him 
the  young  man  in  the  audience  who  had  spoken  to 
her,  she  resumed  her  business  of  imbibing  orange 
juice. 

The  girl  seemed  even  frailer  and  younger  in  her 
hat  and  street  gown.  A  silver-fox  stole  hung  from 
her  shoulders ;  a  gold  bag  lay  on  the  table  under  the 
bunch  of  violets. 

She  paid  no  attention  whatever  to  him.  Presently 
her  wheat-straw  buckled,  and  she  selected  a  better 
one. 

He  said:  "There's  something  rather  serious  I'd 
like  to  speak  to  you  about  if  you'll  let  me.  I'm  not 
the  sort  you  evidently  suppose.  I'm  not  trying  to 
annoy  you." 

At  that  she  looked  around  and  upward  once  more. 

Very,  very  young,  but  already  spoiled,  he  thought, 
for  the  dark-blue  eyes  were  coolly  appraising  him, 


GREY  MAGIC  49 

and  the  droop  of  the  mouth  had  become  almost  sul- 
len. Besides,  traces  of  paint  still  remained  to  incar- 
nadine lip  and  cheek  and  there  was  a  hint  of  hard- 
ness in  the  youthful  plumpness  of  the  features. 

"Are  you  a  professional?"  she  asked  without  curi- 
osity. 

"A  theatrical  man?    No." 

"Then  if  you  haven't  anything  to  offer  me,  what  is 
it  you  wish?" 

"I  have  a  job  to  offer  if  you  care  for  it  and  if 
you  are  up  to  it,"  he  said. 

Her  eyes  became  slightly  hostile : 

"What  kind  of  job  do  you  mean?" 

"I  want  to  learn  something  about  you  first.  Will 
you  come  over  to  my  table  and  talk  it  over?" 

"No." 

"What  sort  do  you  suppose  me  to  be?"  he  in- 
quired, amused. 

"The  usual  sort,  I  suppose." 

"You  mean  a  Johnny?" 

"Yes— of  sorts." 

She  let  her  insolent  eyes  sweep  him  once  morev 
from  head  to  foot. 

He  was  a  well-built  young  man  and  in  his  evening 
dress  he  had  that  something  about  him  which  placed 
him  very  definitely  where  he  really  belonged. 

"Would  you  mind  looking  at  my  card?"  he  asked. 

He  drew  it  out  and  laid  it  beside  her,  and  without 
stirring  she  scanned  it  sideways. 

"That's  my  name  and  address,"  he  continued.  "I'm 


50  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

not  contemplating  mischief.  I've  enough  excitement 
in  life  without  seeking  adventure.  Besides,  I'm  not 
the  sort  who  goes  about  annoying  women." 

She  glanced  up  at  him  again : 

"You  are  annoying  me !" 

"I'm  sorry.    I  was  quite  honest.    Good-night." 

He  took  his  conge  with  unhurried  amiability;  had 
already  turned  away  when  she  said: 

"Please  .  .  .  what  do  you  desire  to  say  to  me?" 
He  came  back  to  her  table : 

"I  couldn't  tell  you  until  I  know  a  little  more  about 
you." 

"What — do  you  wish  to  know?" 

"Several  things.  I  could  scarcely  ask  you — go 
over  such  matters  with  you — standing  here." 

There  was  a  pause ;  the  girl  juggled  with  the  straw 
on  the  table  for  a  few  moments,  then,  partly  turn- 
ing, she  summoned  a  waiter,  paid  him,  adjusted  her 
stole,  picked  up  her  gold  bag  and  her  violets  and 
stood  up.  Then  she  turned  to  Cleves  and  gave  him 
a  direct  look,  which  had  in  it  the  impersonal  and 
searching  gaze  of  a  child. 

When  they  were  seated  at  the  table  reserved  for 
him  the  place  already  was  filling  rapidly — backwash 
from  the  theatres  slopped  through  every  aisle — 
people  not  yet  surfeited  with  noise,  not  yet  suffi- 
ciently sodden  by  their  worship  of  the  great  god 
Jazz. 

"Jazz,"  said  Cleves,  glancing  across  his  dinner- 
card  at  Tressa  Nome — "what's  the  meaning  of  the 
word?  Do  you  happen  to  know?" 


GREY  MAGIC  51 

"Doesn't  it  come  from  the  French  ^aser'f" 

He  smiled.  "Possibly.  I'm  rather  hungry.  Are 
you?" 

"Yes." 

"Will  you  indicate  your  preferences?" 

She  studied  her  card,  and  presently  he  gave  the 
order. 

"I'd  like  some  champagne,"  she  said,  "unless  you 
think  it's  too  expensive." 

He  smiled  at  that,  too,  and  gave  the  order. 

"I  didn't  suggest  any  wine  because  you  seem  so 
young,"  he  said. 

"How  old  do  I  seem?" 

"Sixteen  perhaps." 

"I  am  twenty-one." 

"Then  you've  had  no  troubles.5' 

"I  don't  know  what  you  call  i  ">uble,"  she  re- 
marked, indifferently,  watching  the  a*  'ving  throngs. 

The  orchestra,  too,  had  taken  its  pla    . , 

"Well,"  she  said,  "now  that  you've  picked  me  up, 
what  do  you  really  want  of  me?"  There  was  no 
mitigating  smile  to  soften  what  she  said.  She 
dropped  her  elbows  on  the  table,  rested  her  chin 
between  her  palms  and  looked  at  him  with  the  same 
searching,  undisturbed  expression  that  is  so  discon- 
certing in  children.  As  he  made  no  reply:  "May  I 
have  a  cocktail?"  she  inquired. 

He  gave  the  order.  And  his  mind  registered  pes- 
simism. "There  is  nothing  doing  with  this  girl," 
he  thought.  "She's  already  on  the  toboggan."  But 


52  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

he  said  aloud:  "That  was  beautiful  work  you  did 
down  in  the  theatre,  Miss  Nome." 

"Did  you  think  so?" 

"Of  course.     It  was  astounding  work." 

"Thank  you.  But  managers  and  audiences  differ 
with  you." 

"Then  they  are  very  stupid,"  he  said. 

"Possibly.  But  that  does  not  help  me  pay  my 
board." 

"Do  you  mean  you  have  trouble  in  securing  the- 
atrical engagements?" 

"Yes,  I  am  through  here  to-night,  and  there's 
nothing  else  in  view,  so  far." 

"That's  incredible  I"  he  exclaimed. 

She  lifted  her  glass,  slowly  drained  it. 

For  a  few  moments  she  caressed  the  stem  of  the 
empty  glass,  her  gaze  remote. 

"Yes,  it's  that  way,"  she  said.  "From  the  begin- 
ning I  felt  that  my  audiences  were  not  in  sympathy 
with  me.  Sometimes  it  even  amounts  to  hostility. 
Americans  do  not  like  what  I  do,  even  if  it  holds 
their  attention.  I  don't  quite  understand  why  they 
don't  like  it,  but  I'm  always  conscious  they  don't. 
And  of  course  that  settles  it — to-night  has  settled  the 
whole  thing,  once  and  for  all." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"What  others  do,  I  presume." 

"What  do  others  do?"  he  inquired,  watching  the 
lovely  sullen  eyes. 

"Oh,  they  do  what  I'm  doing  now,  don't  they? — ' 


GREY  MAGIC  53 

let  some  man  pick  them  up  and  feed  them."  She 
lifted  her  indifferent  eyes.  "I'm  not  criticising  you. 
I  meant  to  do  it  some  day — when  I  had  courage. 
That's  why  I  just  asked  you  if  I  might  have  some 
champagne — finding  myself  a  little  scared  at  my  first 
step.  .  .  .  But  you  did  say  you  might  have  a  job 
for  me.  Didn't  you?" 

"Suppose  I  haven't.    What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

The  curtain  was  rising.  She  nodded  toward  the 
bespangled  chorus.  "Probably  that  sort  of  thing. 
They've  asked  me." 

Supper  was  served.  They  both  were  hungry  and 
thirsty;  the  music  made  conversation  difficult,  so 
they  supped  in  silence  and  watched  the  imbecile  show 
conceived  by  vulgarians,  produced  by  vulgarians  and 
served  up  to  mental  degenerates  of  the  same  species 
— the  average  metropolitan  audience. 

For  ten  minutes  a  pair  of  comedians  fell  up  and 
down  a  flight  of  steps,  and  the  audience  shrieked  ap- 
proval. 

"Miss  Nome?" 

The  girl  who  had  been  watching  the  show  turned 
in  her  chair  and  looked  back  at  him. 

"Your  magic  is  by  far  the  most  wonderful  I  have 
ever  seen  or  heard  of.  Even  in  India  such  things 
are  not  done." 

"No,  not  in  India,"  she  said,  indifferently. 

"Where  then?" 

"In  China." 

"You  learned  to  do  such  things  there?" 


54  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"Yes." 

"Where,  in  China,  did  you  learn  such  amazing 
magic?" 

"In  Yian." 

"I  never  heard  of  it.    Is  it  a  province?" 

"A  city." 

"And  you  lived  there?" 

"Fourteen  years." 

"When?" 

"From  1904  to  1918." 

"During  the  great  war,"  he  remarked,  "you  were 
in  China?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  you  arrived  here  very  recently." 

"In^November,  from  the  Coast." 

"I  see.  You  played  the  theatres  from  the  Coast 
eastward." 

"And  went  to  pieces  in  New  York,"  she  added 
calmly,  finishing  her  glass  of  champagne. 

"Have  you  any  family?"  he  asked. 

"No." 

"Do  you  care  to  say  anything  further?"  he  in- 
quired, pleasantly. 

"About  my  family?  Yes,  if  you  wish.  My  father 
was  in  the  spice  trade  in  Yian.  The  Yezidees  took 
Yian  in  1910,  threw  him  into  a  well  in  his  own  com- 
pound and  filled  it  up  with  dead  imperial  troops.  I 
was  thirteen  years  old.  .  .  .  The  Hassani  did  that. 
They  held  Yian  nearly  eight  years,  and  I  lived  with 
my  mother,  in  a  garden  pagoda,  until  1914.  In 


GREY  MAGIC  55 

January  of  that  year  Germans  got  through  from 
Kiaou-Chou.  They  had  been  six  months  on  the  way. 
I  think  they  were  Hassanis.  Anyway,  they  persuaded 
the  Hassanis  to  massacre  every  English-speaking 
prisoner.  And  so — my  mother  died  in  the  garden 
pagoda  of  Yian.  ...  I  was  not  told  for  four 
years." 

"Why  did  they  spare  you?"  he  asked,  astonished 
at  her  story  so  quietly  told,  so  utterly  destitute  of 
emotion. 

"I  was  seventeen.  A  certain  person  had  placed 
me  among  the  temple  girls  in  the  temple  of  Erlik. 
It  pleased  this  person  to  make  of  me  a  Mongol 
temple  girl  as  a  mockery  at  Christ.  They  gave  me 
the  name  Keuke  Mongol.  I  asked  to  serve  the  shrine 
of  Kwann-an — she  being  like  to  our  Madonna.  But 
this  person  gave  me  the  choice  between  the  halberds 
of  the  Tchortchas  and  the  sorcery  of  Erlik." 

She  lifted  her  sombre  eyes.  "So  I  learned  how  to 
do  the  things  you  saw.  But — what  I  did  there  on  the 
stage  is  not — respectable." 

An  odd  shiver  passed  over  him.  For  a  second  he 
took  her  literally,  suddenly  convinced  that  her  magic 
was  not  white  but  black  as  the  demon  at  whose  shrine 
she  had  learned  it.  Then  he  smiled  and  asked  her 
pleasantly,  whether  indeed  she  employed  hypnosis  in 
her  miraculous  exhibitions. 

But  her  eyes  became  more  sombre  still,  and,  "I 
don't  care  to  talk  about  it,"  she  said.  "I  have  al- 
ready said  too  much." 


56  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"I'm  sorry.  I  didn't  mean  to  pry  into  profes- 
sional secrets " 

"I  can't  talk  about  it,"  she  repeated.  ".  .  .  Please 
— my  glass  is  quite  empty." 

When  he  had  refilled  it: 

"How  did  you  get  away  from  Yian?"  he  asked. 

"The  Japanese." 

"What  luck!" 

"Yes.  One  battle  was  fought  at  Buldak.  The 
Hassanis  and  Blue  Flags  were  terribly  cut  up.  Then, 
outside  the  walls  of  Yian,  Prince  Sanang's  Tchortcha 
infantry  made  a  stand.  He  was  there  with  his  Yezi- 
dee  horsemen,  all  in  leather  and  silk  armour  with 
casques  and  corselets  of  black  Indian  steel. 

"I  could  see  them  from  the  temple — saw  the  Jap- 
anese gunners  open  fire.  The  Tchortchas  were 
blown  to  shreds  in  the  blast  of  the  Japanese  guns. 
.  .  .  Sanang  got  away  with  some  of  his  Yezidee 
horsemen." 

"Where  was  that  battle?" 

"I  told  you,  outside  the  walls  of  Yian." 

"The  newspapers  never  mentioned  any  such  trou- 
ble in  China,"  he  said,  suspiciously. 

"Nobody  knows  about  it  except  the  Germans  and 
the  Japanese." 

"Who  is  this  Sanang?"  he  demanded. 

"A  Yezidee-Mongol.  He  is  one  of  the  Sheiks-el- 
Djebel — a  servant  of  The  Old  Man  of  Mount  Ala- 
mout." 

"What  is  he?" 


GREY  MAGIC  57 

"A  sorcerer — assassin." 

"What!"  exclaimed  Cleves  incredulously. 

"Why,  yes,"  she  said,  calmly.  "Have  you  never 
heard  of  The  Old  Man  of  Mount  Alamout?" 

"Well,  yes " 

"The  succession  has  been  unbroken  since  1090  B.C. 
A  Hassan  Sabbah  is  still  the  present  Old  Man  of  the 
Mountain.  His  Yezidees  worship  Erlik.  They  are 
sorcerers.  But  you  would  not  believe  that." 

Cleves  said  with  a  smile,  "Who  is  Erlik?" 

"The  Mongols'  Satan." 

"Oh!     So  these  Yezidees  are  devil-worshipers!" 

"They  are  more.    They  are  actually  devils." 

"You  don't  really  believe  that  even  in  unexplored 
China  there  exists  such  a  creature  as  a  real  sorcerer, 
do  you?"  he  inquired,  smilingly. 

"I  don't  wish  to  talk  of  it." 

To  his  surprise  her  face  had  flushed,  and  he 
thought  her  sensitive  mouth  quivered  a  little. 

He  watched  her  in  silence  for  a  moment;  then, 
leaning  a  little  way  across  the  table: 

"Where  are  you  going  when  the  show  here 
closes?" 

"To  my  boarding-house." 

"And  then?" 

"To  bed,"  she  said,  sullenly. 

"And  to-morrow  what  do  you  mean  to  do?" 

"Go  out  to  the  agencies  and  ask  for  work." 

"And  if  there  is  none?" 

"The  chorus,"  she  said,  indifferently. 


58  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"What  salary  have  you  been  getting?" 
She  told  him. 

"Will  you  take  three  times  that  amount  and  work 
with  me?" 


CHAPTER  IV 

BODY  AND  SOUL 

THE  girl's  direct  gaze  met  his  with  that  merci- 
less searching  intentness  he  already  knew. 
"What  do  you  wish  me  to  do?" 

"Enter  the  service  of  the  United  States." 

"Wh-what?" 

"Work  for  the  Government." 

She  was  too  taken  aback  to  answer. 

"Where  were  you  born?"  he  demanded  abruptly. 

"In  Albany,  New  York,"  she  replied  in  a  dazed 
way. 

"You  are  loyal  to  your  country?" 

"Ye*— certainly." 

"You  would  not  betray  her?" 

"No." 

"I  don't  mean  for  money;  I  mean  from  fear." 

After  a  moment,  and,  avoiding  his  gaze:  "I  am 
afraid  of  death,"  she  said  very  simply. 

He  waited. 

"I — I  don't  know  w'hat  I  might  do — being 
afraid,"  she  added  in  a  troubled  voice.  "I  desire  to 
—live." 

He  still  waited. 

59 


60  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

She  lifted  her  eyes:  "I'd  try  not  to  betray  my 
country,"  she  murmured. 

"Try  to  face  death  for  your  country's  honour?" 

"Yes." 

"And  for  your  own?" 

"Yes;  and  for  my  own." 

He  leaned  nearer:  "Yet  you're  taking  a  chance  on 
your  own  honour  to-night." 

She  blushed  brightly:  "I  didn't  think  I  was  taking 
a  very  great  chance  with  you." 

He  said:  "You  have  found  life  too  hard.  And 
when  you  faced  failure  in  New  York  you  began  to 
let  go  of  life — real  life,  I  mean.  And  you  came  up 
here  to-night  wondering  whether  you  had  courage 
to  let  yourself  go.  When  I  spoke  to  you  it  scared 
you.  You  found  you  hadn't  the  courage.  But  per- 
haps to-morrow  you  might  find  it — or  next  week — 
if  sufficiently  scared  by  hunger — you  might  venture 
to  take  the  first  step  along  the  path  that  you  say 
others  usually  take  sooner  or  later." 

The  girl  flushed  scarlet,  sat  looking  at  him  out  of 
eyes  grown  dark  with  anger. 

He  said:  "You  told  me  an  untruth.  You  have 
been  tempted  to  betray  your  country.  You  have  re- 
sisted. You  have  been  threatened  with  death.  You 
have  had  courage  to  defy  threats  and  temptations 
where  your  country's  honour  was  concerned !" 

"How  do  you  know?"  she  demanded. 

He  continued,  ignoring  the  question:  "From  the 
time  you  landed  in  San  Francisco  you  have  been 
threatened.  You  tried  to  earn  a  living  by  your  ma- 


BODY  AND  SOUL  61 

gician's  tricks,  but  in  city  after  city,  as  you  came 
East,  your  uneasiness  grew  into  fear,  and  your  fear 
into  terror,  because  every  day  more  terribly  con- 
firmed your  belief  that  people  were  following  you  de- 
termined either  to  use  you  to  their  own  purposes  or 
to  murder  you " 

The  girl  turned  quite  white  and  half  rose  in  her 
chair,  then  sank  back,  staring  at  him  out  of  dilated 
eyes.  Then  Cleves  smiled:  "So  you've  got  the  nerve 
to  do  Government  work,"  he  said,  "and  you've  got 
the  intelligence,  and  the  knowledge,  and  something 
else — I  don't  know  exactly  what  to  call  it — Skill? 
Dexterity?  Sorcery?"  he  smiled — "I  mean  your 
professional  ability.  That's  what  I  want — that  be- 
wildering dexterity  of  yours,  to  help  your  own  coun- 
try in  the  fight  of  its  life.  Will  you  enlist  for  ser- 
vice?" 

"W-what  fight?"  she  asked  faintly. 

"The  fight  with  the  Red  Spectre." 

"Anarchy?" 

"Yes  .  .  .  Are  you  ready  to  leave  this  place?  I 
want  to  talk  to  you." 

"Where?" 

"In  my  own  rooms." 

After  a  moment  she  rose. 

"I'll  go  to  yaur  rooms  with  you,"  she  said.  She 
added  very  calmly  that  she  was  glad  it  was  to  be  his 
rooms  and  not  some  other  man's. 

Out  of  countenance,  he  demanded  what  she  meant, 
and  she  said  quite  candidly  that  she'd  made  up  her 


62  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

mind  to  live  at  any  cost,  and  that  if  she  couldn't 
make  an  honest  living  she'd  make  a  living  anyway. 

He  offered  no  reply  to  this  until  they  had  reached 
the  street  and  he  had  called  a  taxi. 

On  their  way  to  his  apartment  he  re-opened  the 
subject  rather  bluntly,  remarking  that  life  was  not 
worth  living  at  the  price  she  had  mentioned. 

"That  is  the  accepted  Christian  theory,"  she  re- 
plied coolly,  "but  circumstances  alter  things." 

"Not  such  things." 

"Oh,  yes,  they  do.  If  one  is  already  damned,  what 
difference  does  anything  else  make?" 

He  asked,  sarcastically,  whether  she  considered 
herself  already  damned. 

She  did  not  reply  for  a  few  moments,  then  she 
said,  in  a  quick,  breathless  way,  that  souls  have  been 
entrapped  through  ignorance  of  evil.  And  asked 
him  if  he  did  not  believe  it. 

"No,"  he  said,  "I  don't." 

She  shook  her  head.  "You  couldn't  understand," 
she  said.  "But  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  one  thing; 
even  if  my  soul  has  perished,  my  body  shall  not  die 
for  a  long,  long  time.  I  mean  to  live,"  she  added. 
"I  shall  not  let  my  body  be  slain !  They  shall  not 
steal  life  from  me,  whatever  they  have  done  to  my 
soul " 

"What  in  heaven's  name  are  you  talking  about?" 
he  exclaimed.  "Do  you  actually  believe  in  .soul- 
snatchers  and  life-stealers?" 

She  seemed  sullen,  her  profile  turned  to  him,  her 
eyes  on  the  brilliantly  lighted  avenue  up  which  they 


BODY  AND  SOUL  63 

were  speeding.  After  a  while :  "I'd  rather  live  de- 
cently and  respectably  if  I  can,"  she  said.  "That  is 
the  natural  desire  of  any  girl,  I  suppose.  But  if  I 
can't,  nevertheless  I  shall  beat  off  death  at  any  cost. 
And  whatever  the  price  of  life  is,  I  shall  pay  it. 
Because  I  am  absolutely  determined  to  go  on  living. 
And  if  I  can't  provide  the  means  I'll  have  to  let 
some  man  do  it,  I  suppose." 

"It's  a  good  thing  it  was  I  who  found  you  when 
you  were  out  of  a  job,"  he  remarked  coldly. 

"I  hope  so,"  she  said.  "Even  in  the  beginning  I 
didn't  really  believe  you  meant  to  be  impertinent" — 
a  tragic  smile  touched  her  lips — "and  I  was  almost 
sorry " 

"Are  you  quite  crazy?"  he  demanded. 

"No,  my  mind  is  untouched.  It's  my  soul  that's 
gone.  .  .  .  Do  you  know  I  was  very  hungry  when 
you  spoke  to  me?  The  management  wouldn't  ad- 
vance anything,  and  my  last  money  went  for  my 
room.  .  .  .  Last  Monday  I  had  three  dollars  to 
face  the  future — and  no  job.  I  spent  the  last  of  it 
to-night  on  violets,  orange  juice  and  cakes.  My  furs 
and  my  gold  bag  remain.  I  can  go  two  months 

more  on  them.  Then  it's  a  job  or "  She 

shrugged  and  buried  her  nose  in  her  violets. 

"Suppose  I  advance  you  a  month's  salary?"  he 
said. 

"What  am  I  to  do  for  it?" 

The  taxi  stopped  at  a  florist's  on  the  corner  of 
Madison  Avenue  and  58th  Street.  Overhead  were 
apartments.  There  was  no  elevator — merely  the 


64  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

street  door  to  unlock  and  four  dim  nights  of  stairs 
rising  steeply  to  the  top. 

He  lived  on  the  top  floor.  As  they  paused  before 
his  door  in  the  dim  corridor: 

"Are  you  afraid?"  he  asked. 

She  came  nearer,  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm: 

"Are  you  afraid?" 

He  stood  silent,  the  latch-key  in  his  hand. 

"I'm  not  afraid  of  myself — if  that  is  what  you 
mean,"  he  said. 

"That  is  partly  what  I  mean  .  .  .  you'll  have  to 
mount  guard  over  your  soul." 

"I'll  look  out  for  my  soul,"  he  retorted  dryly. 

"Do  so.  I  lost  mine.  I — I  would  not  wish  any 
harm  to  yours  through  our  companionship." 

"Don't  you  worry  about  my  soul,"  he  remarked, 
fitting  the  key  to  the  lock.  But  again  her  hand  fell 
on  his  wrist: 

"Wait.  I  can't — can't  help  warning  you.  Neither 
your  soul  nor  your  body  are  safe  if — if  you  ever 
do  make  of  me  a  companion.  I've  got  to  tell  you 
this!" 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  he  demanded 
bluntly. 

"Because  you  have  been  courteous — considerate — 
and  you  don't  know — oh,  you  don't  realise  what 
spiritual  peril  is! — What  your  soul  and  body  have 
to  fear  if  you — if  you  win  me  over — if  you  ever 
manage  to  make  of  me  a  friend!" 

He  said:  "People  follow  and  threaten  you.  We 
know  that.  I  understand  also  that  association  with 


BODY  AND  SOUL  65 

you  involves  me,  and  that  I  shall  no  doubt  be 
menaced  with  bodily  harm." 

He  laid  his  hand  on  hers  where  it  still  rested  on 
his  sleeves: 

"But  that's  my  business,  Miss  Nome,"  he  added 
with  a  smile.  "So,  otherwise,  it  being  merely  a  plain 
business  affair  between  you  and  me,  I  think  I  may 
also  venture  my  immortal  soul  alone  with  you  in  my 
room." 

The  girl  flushed  darkly. 

"You  have  misunderstood,"  she  said. 

He  looked  at  her  coolly,  intently;  and  arrived  at 
no  conclusion.  Young,  very  lovely,  confessedly  with- 
out moral  principle,  he  still  could  not  believe  her  ac- 
tually depraved.  "What  did  you  mean?"  he  said 
bluntly. 

"In  companionship  with  the  lost,  one  might  lose 
one's  way — unawares.  .  .  .  Do  you  know  that  there 
is  an  Evil  loose  in  the  world  which  is  bent  upon  con- 
quest by  obtaining  control  of  men's  minds?" 

"No,"  he  replied,  amused. 

"And  that,  through  the  capture  of  men's  minds 
and  souls  the  destruction  of  civilisation  is  being 
planned?" 

"Is  that  what  you  learned  in  your  captivity,  Miss 
Nome?" 

"You  do  not  believe  me." 

"I  believe  your  terrible  experiences  in  China  have 
shaken  you  to  your  tragic  little  soul  Horror  and 
grief  and  loneliness  have  left  scars  on  tender,  impres- 
sionable youth.  They  would  have  slain  maturity — 


66  THE  SLAYER  OF  9O¥LS 

broken  it,  crushed  it.  But  youth  is  flexible,  pliable, 
and  bends — gives  way  under  pressure.  Scars  be- 
come slowly  effaced.  It  shall  be  so  with  you.  You 
will  learn  to  understand  that  nothing  really  can  harm 
the  soul." 

For  a  few  moments'  silence  they  stood  facing  each 
other  on  the  dim  landing  outside  his  locked  door. 

"Nothing  can  slay  our  souls,"  he  repeated  in  a 
grave  voice.  "I  do  not  believe  you  really  ever  have 
done  anything  to  wound  even  your  self-respect.  I  do 
not  believe  you  are  capable  of  it,  or  ever  have  been, 
or  ever  will  be.  But  somebody  has  deeply  wounded 
you,  spiritually,  and  has  wounded  your  mind  to  per- 
suade you  that  your  soul  is  no  longer  in  God's  keep- 
ing. For  that  is  a  lie!" 

He  saw  her  features  working  with  poignant  emo- 
tions as  though  struggling  to  believe  him. 

"Souls  are  never  lost,"  he  said.  "Ungoverned 
passions  of  every  sort  merely  cripple  them  for  a 
space.  God  always  heals  them  in  the  end." 

He  laid  his  hand  on  the  door-knob  once  more 
and  lifted  the  latch-key. 

"Don't!"  she  whispered,  catching  his  hand  again, 
"if  there  should  be  somebody  in  there  waiting  for 
us!" 

"There  is  not  a  soul  in  my  rooms.  My  servant 
sleeps  out." 

"There  is  somebody  there !"  she  said,  trembling. 

"Nobody,  Miss  Nome.  Will  you  come  in  with 
me?" 

"I  don't  dare ," 


BODY  AND  SOUL  67 

"Why?" 

"You  and  I  alone  together — no!  oh,  please — 
please !  I  am  afraid !" 

"Of  what?" 

"Of — giving  you — my  c-confidence — and  trust—- 
and— and  f-friendship." 

"I  want  you  to." 

"I  must  not!  It  would  destroy  us  both,  soul  and 
body!" 

"I  tell  you,"  he  said,  impatiently,  "that  there  is 
no  destruction  of  the  soul — and  it's  a  clean  comrade- 
ship anyway — a  fighting  friendship  I  ask  of  you — all 
I  ask;  all  I  offer!  Wherein,  then,  lies  this  peril  in 
being  alone  together?" 

"Because  I  am  finding  it  in  my  heart  "to  believe  in 
you,  trust  you,  hold  fast  to  your  strength  and  pro- 
tection. And  if  I  give  way — yield — and  if  I  make 
you  a  promise — and  if  there  is  anybody  in  that  room 
to  see  us  and  hear  us — then  we  shall  be  destroyed, 
both  of  us,  soul  and  body " 

He  took  her  hands,  held  them  until  their  trembling 
ceased. 

"I'll  answer  for  our  bodies.  Let  God  look  after 
the  rest.  Will  you  trust  Him?" 

She  nodded. 

"And  me?" 

"Yes." 

But  her  face  blanched  as  he  turned  the  latch-key, 
switched  on  the  electric  light,  and  preceded  her  into 
the  room  beyond. 

The  place  was  one  of  those  accentless,  typical 


THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

bachelor  apartments  made  comfortable  for  anything 
masculine,  but  quite  unlivable  otherwise. 

Live  coals  still  glowed  in  the  hob  grate ;  he  placed 
a  lump  of  cannel  coal  on  the  embers,  used  a  bellows 
vigorously  and  the  flame  caught  with  a  greasy 
crackle. 

The  girl  stood  motionless  until  he  pulled  up  an 
easy  chair  for  her,  then  he  found  another  for  him- 
self. She  let  slip  her  furs,  folded  her  hands  around 
the  bunch  of  violets  and  waited. 

"Now,"  he  said,  "I'll  come  to  the  point.  In  1916 
I  was  at  Plattsburg,  expecting  a  commission.  The 
Department  of  Justice  sent  for  me.  I  went  to  Wash- 
ington where  I  was  made  to  understand  that  I  had 
been  selected  to  serve  my  country  in  what  is  vaguely 
known  as  the  Secret  Service — and  which  includes 
government  agents  attached  to  several  departments. 

"The  great  war  is  over;  but  I  am  still  retained  in 
the  service.  Because  something  more  sinister  than 
a  hun  victory  over  civilisation  threatens  this  Repub- 
lic. And  threatens  the  civilised  world." 

"Anarchy,"  she  said. 

"Bolshevism." 

She  did  not  stir  in  her  chair. 

She  had  become  very  white.  She  said  nothing.  He 
looked  at  her  with  his  quiet,  reassuring  smile. 

"That's  what  I  want  of  you,"  he  repeated. 

"I  want  your  help,"  he  went  on,  "I  want  your 
valuable  knowledge  of  the  Orient.  I  want  whatever 
secret  information  you  possess.  I  want  your  rather 
amazing  gifts,  your  unprecedented  experience 


BODY  AND  SOUL  69 

almost  unknown  people,  your  familiarity  with  occult 
things,  your  astounding  powers — whatever  they  are 
— hypnotic,  psychic,  material. 

"Because,  to-day,  civilisation  is  engaged  in  a  se- 
cret battle  for  existence  against  gathering  powers  of 
violence,  the  force  and  limit  of  which  are  still  un- 
guessed. 

"It  is  a  battle  between  righteousness  and  evil,  be- 
tween sanity  and  insanity,  light  and  darkness,  God 
and  Satan!  And  if  civilisation  does  not  win,  then 
the  world  perishes." 

She  raised  her  still  eyes  to  his,  but  made  no  other 
movement. 

"Miss  Nome,"  he  said,  "we  in  the  International 
Service  know  enough  about  you  to  desire  to  know 
more. 

"We  already  knew  the  story  you  have  told  to  me. 
Agents  in  the  International  Secret  Service  kept  in 
touch  with  you  from  the  time  that  the  Japanese  es- 
corted you  out  of  China. 

"From  the  day  you  landed,  and  all  across  the 
Continent  to  New  York,  you  have  been  kept  in  view 
by  agents  of  this  government. 

"Here,  in  New  York,  my  men  have  kept  in  touch 
with  you.  And  now,  to-night,  the  moment  has  come 
for  a  personal  understanding  between  you  and  me." 

The  girl's  pale  lips  moved — became  stiffly  articu- 
late: "I — I  wish  to  live,"  she  stammered,  "I  fear 
death." 

"I  know  it.  I  know  what  I  ask  when  I  ask  your 
help." 


70  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

She  said  in  the  ghost  of  a  voice :  "If  I  turn  against 
them — they  will  kill  me." 

"They'll  try,"  he  said  quietly. 

"They  will  not  fail,  Mr.  Cleves." 

"That  is  in  God's  hands." 

She  became  deathly  white  at  that. 

"No,"  she  burst  out  in  an  agonised  voice,  "it  is 
not  in  God's  hands!  If  it  were,  I  should  not  be 
afraid!  It  is  in  the  hands  of  those  who  stole  my 
soul!" 

She  covered  her  face  with  both  arms,  fairly  writh- 
ing on  her  chair. 

"If  the  Yezidees  have  actually  made  you  believe 
any  such  nonsense" — he  began;  but  she  dropped  her 
arms  and  stared  at  him  out  of  terrible  blue  eyes : 

"I  don't  want  to  die,  I  tell  you!  I  am  afraid! — 
afraid/  If  I  reveal  to  you  what  I  know  they'll  kill 
me.  If  I  turn  against  them  and  aid  you,  they'll  slay 
my  body,  and  send  it  after  my  soul!" 

She  was  trembling  so  violently  that  he  sprang  up 
and  went  to  her.  After  a  moment  he  passed  one 
arm  around  her  shoulders  and  held  her  firmly,  close 
to  him. 

"Come,"  he  said,  "do  your  duty.  Those  who  en- 
list under  the  banner  of  Christ  have  nothing  to  dread 
in  this  world  or  the  next." 

"If — if  I  could  believe  I  were  safe  there." 

"I  tell  you  that  you  are.  So  is  every  human  soul ! 
What  mad  nonsense  have  the  Yezidees  made  you 
believe?  Is  there  any  surer  salvation  for  the  soul 
than  to  die  in  Christ's  service?" 


BODY  AND  SOUL  71 

He  slipped  his  arm  from  her  quivering  shoulders 
and  grasped  both  her  hands,  crushing  them  as  though 
to  steady  every  fibre  in  her  tortured  body. 

"I  want  you  to  live.  I  want  to  live,  too.  But  I 
tell  you  it's  in  God's  hands,  and  we  soldiers  of  civili- 
sation have  nothing  to  fear  except  failure  to  do  our 
duty.  Now,  then,  are  we  comrades  under  the  United 
States  Government?" 

"OGod— I— dare  not!" 

"Are  we?" 

Perhaps  she  felt  the  physical  pain  of  his  crushing 
grip  for  she  turned  and  looked  him  in  the  eyes. 

"I  don't  want  to  die,"  she  whispered.  "Don't 
make  me!" 

"Will  you  help  your  country?" 

The  terrible  directness  of  her  child's  gaze  became 
almost  unendurable  to  him. 

"Will  you  offer  your  country  your  soul  and  body?" 
he  insisted  in  a  low,  tense  voice. 

Her  stiff  lips  formed  a  word. 

"Yes!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Yes." 

For  a  moment  she  rested  against  his  shoulder, 
deathly  white,  then  in  a  flash  she  had  straightened, 
was  on  her  feet  in  one  bound  and  so  swiftly  that  he 
scarcely  followed  her  movement — was  unaware  that 
she  had  risen  until  he  saw  her  standing  there  with 
a  pistol  glittering  in  her  hand,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
portieres  that  hung  across  the  corridor  leading  to  his 
bedroom. 

"What  on  earth,"  he  began,  but  she  interrupted 


72  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

him,  keeping  her  gaze  focused  on  the  curtains,  and 
the  pistol  resting  level  on  her  hip. 

"I'll  answer  you  if  I  die  for  it!"  she  cried.  "I'll 
tell  you  everything  I  know !  You  wish  to  learn  what 
is  this  monstrous  evil  that  threatens  the  world  with 
destruction — what  you  call  anarchy  and  Bolshevism? 
It  is  an  Evil  that  was  born  before  Christ  came!^  It 
is  an  Evil  which  not  only  destroys  cities  and  empires 
and  men  but  which  is  more  terrible  still  for  it  obtains 
control  of  the  human  mind,  and  uses  it  at  will;  and 
it  obtains  sovereignty  over  the  soul,  and  makes  it 
prisoner.  Its  aim  is  to  dominate  first,  then  to  de- 
stroy. It  was  conceived  in  the  beginning  by  Erlik 
and  by  Sorcerers  and  devils.  .  .  .  Always,  from  the 
first,  there  have  been  sorcerers  and  living  devils. 

"And  when  human  history  began  to  be  remem- 
bered and  chronicled,  devils  were  living  who  wor- 
shiped Erlik  and  practised  sorcery. 

"They  have  been  called  by  many  names.  A  thou- 
sand years  before  Christ  Hassan  Sabbah  founded  his 
sect  called  Hassanis  or  Assassins.  The  Yezidees  are 
of  them.  Their  Chief  is  still  called  Sabbah;  their 
creed  is  the  annihilation  of  civilisation!" 

Cleves  had  risen.  The  girl  spoke  in  a  clear,  ac- 
centless  monotone,  not  looking  at  him,  her  eyes  and 
pistol  centred  on  the  motionless  curtains. 

"Look  out!"  she  cried  sharply. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  he  demanded.  "Do  you 
suppose  anybody  is  hidden  behind  that  curtain  in 
the  passageway?" 


BODY  AND  SOUL  73 

"If  there  is,"  she  replied  in  her  excited  but  dis- 
tinct voice,  "here  is  a  tale  to  entertain  him : 

"The  Hassanis  are  a  sect  of  assassins  which  has 
spread  out  of  Asia  all  over  the  world,  and  they  are 
determined  upon  the  annihilation  of  everything  and 
everybody  in  it  except  themselves! 

"In  Germany  is  a  branch  of  the  sect.  The  hun  is 
the  lineal  descendant  of  the  ancient  Yezidee;  the 
gods  of  the  hun  are  the  old  demons  under  other 
names;  the  desire  and  object  of  the  hun  is  the  same 
desire — to  rule  the  minds  and  bodies  and  souls  of 
men  and  use  them  to  their  own  purposes!" 

She  lifted  her  pistol  a  little,  came  a  pace  forward: 

"Anarchist,  Yezidee,  Hassani,  Boche,  Bolshevik 
— all  are  the  same — all  are  secretly  swarming  in  the 
hidden  places  for  the  same  purpose!" 

The  girl's  blue  eyes  were  aflame,  now,  and  the 
pistol  was  lifting  slowly  in  her  hand  to  a  deadly  level. 

"Sanang!"  she  cried  in  a  terrible  voice. 

"Sanang!"  she  cried  again  in  her  terrifying  young 
voice — "Toad!  Tortoise  egg!  Spittle  of  Erlik! 
May  the  Thirty  Thousand  Calamities  overtake  you ! 
Sheik-el-Djebel ! — cowardly  Khan  whom  I  laughed 
at  from  the  temple  when  it  rained  yellow  snakes 
on  the  marble  steps  when  all  the  gongs  in  Yian 
sounded  in  your  frightened  ears!" 

She  waited. 

"What!  You  won't  step  out?  Tokhtaf"  she  ex- 
claimed in  a  ringing  tone,  and  made  a  swift  motion 
with  her  left  hand.  Apparently  out  of  her  empty 
open  palm,  like  a  missile  hurled,  a  thin,  blinding 


74  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

beam  of  light  struck  the  curtains,  making  them  sud- 
denly transparent. 

A  man  stood  there. 

He  came  out,  moving  very  slowly  as  though  partly 
stupefied.  He  wore  evening  dress  under  his  over- 
coat, and  had  a  long  knife  in  his  right  hand. 

Nobody  spoke. 

"So — I  really  was  to  die  then,  if  I  came  here," 
said  the  girl  in  a  wondering  way. 

Sanang's  stealthy  gaze  rested  on  her,  stole  toward 
Cleves.  He  moistened  his  lips  with  his  tongue.  "You 
deliver  me  to  this  government  agent?"  he  asked 
hoarsely. 

"I  deliver  nobody  by  treachery.  You  may  go, 
Sanang." 

He  hesitated,  a  graceful,  faultless,  metropolitan 
figure  in  top-hat  and  evening  attire.  Then,  as  he 
started  to  move,  Cleves  covered  him  with  his  weapon. 

"I  can't  let  that  man  go  free!"  cried  Cleves 
angrily. 

"Very  well!"  she  retorted  in  a  passionate  voice — 
"then  take  him  if  you  are  able !  Tokhta!  Look  out 
for  yourself!" 

Something  swift  as  lightning  struck  the  pistol  from 
his  grasp, — blinded  him,  half  stunned  him,  set  him 
reeling  in  a  drenching  blaze  of  light  that  blotted  out 
all  else, 

He  heard  the  door  slam;  he  stumbled,  caught  at 
the  back  of  a  chair  while  his  senses  and  sight  were 
clearing. 

"By  heavens!"  he  whispered  with  ashen  lips,  "you 


BODY  AND  SOUL  75 

— you  are  a  sorceressr— or  something.  What — what 
are  you  doing  to  me  ?'* 

There  was  no  answer.  And  when  his  vision 
cleared  a  little  more  he  saw  her  crouched  on  the  floor, 
her  head  against  the  locked  door,  listening,  perhaps 
— or  sobbing — he  scarcely  understood  which  until 
the  quiver  of  her  shoulders  made  it  plainer. 

When  at  last  Cleves  went  to  her  and  bent  over  and 
touched  her  she  looked  up  at  him  out  of  wet  eyes, 
and  her  grief-drawn  mouth  quivered. 

"I— I  don't  know,"  she  sobbed,  "if  he  truly  stole 
away  my  soul — there — there  in  the  temple  dusk  of 
Yian.  But  he — he  stole  my  heart — for  all  his  wick- 
edness— Sanang,  Prince  of  the  Yezidees — and  I  have 
been  fighting  him  for  it  all  these  years — all  these 
long  years — fighting  for  what  he  stole  in  the  temple 
dusk!  .  .  .  And  now — now  I  have  it  back — my 
heart — all  broken  to  pieces — here  on  the  ioor  be- 
hind your — your  bolted  door." 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   ASSASSINS 

ON  the  wall  hung  a  map  of  Mongolia,  that 
indefinite  region  a  million  and  a  half  square 
miles  in  area,  vast  sections  of  which  have 
never  been  explored. 

Turkestan  and  China  border  it  on  the  south,  and 
Tibet  almost  touches  it,  not  quite. 

Even  in  the  twelfth  century,  when  the  wild  Mon- 
gols broke  loose  and  nearly  overran  the  world,  the 
Tibet  infantry  under  Genghis,  the  Tchortcha  horse- 
men drafted  out  of  Black  China,  and  a  great  cloud 
of  Mongol  cavalry  under  the  Prince  of  the  Van- 
guard commanding  half  a  hundred  Hezars,  never 
penetrated  that  grisly  and  unknown  waste.  The 
"Eight  Towers  of  the  Assassins"  guarded  it — still 
guard  it,  possibly. 

The  vice-regent  of  Erlik,  Prince  of  Darkness, 
dwelt  within  this  unknown  land.  And  dwells  there 
still,  perhaps. 

In  front  of  this  wall-map  stood  Tressa  Nome. 

Behind  her,  facing  the  map,  four  men  were  seated 
— three  of  them  under  thirty. 

These  three  were  volunteers  in  the  service  of  the 
United  States  Government — men  of  independent 
76 


THE  ASSASSINS  77 

means,  of  position,  who  had  volunteered  for  military 
duty  at  the  outbreak  of  the  great  war.  However, 
they  had  been  assigned  by  the  Government  to  a  very 
different  sort  of  duty  no  less  exciting  than  service 
on  the  fighting  line,  but  far  less  conspicuous,  for 
they  had  been  drafted  into  the  United  States  De- 
partment of  Justice. 

The  names  of  these  three  were  Victor  Cleves,  a 
professor  of  ornithology  at  Harvard  University  be- 
fore the  war ;  Alexander  Selden,  junior  partner  in  the 
hanking  firm  of  Milwyn,  Selden,  and  Co.,  and  James 
Benton,  a~NewYork  architect. 

The  fourth  man's  name  was  John  Recklow.  He 
might  have  been  over  fifty,  or  under.  He  was  well- 
built,  in  a  square,  athletic  way,  clear-skinned  and 
ruddy,  grey-eyed,  quiet  in  voice  and  manner.  His 
hair  and  moustache  had  turned  silvery.  He  had  been 
employed  by  the  Government  for  many  years.  He 
seemed  to  be  enormously  interested  in  what  Miss 
Nome  was  saying. 

Also  he  was  the  only  man  who  interrupted  her 
narrative  to  ask  questions.  And  his  questions  re- 
vealed a  knowledge  which  was  making  the  girl  more 
sensitive  and  uneasv  every  moment. 

Finally,  when  she  spoke  of  the  Scarlet  Desert,  he 
asked  if  the  Scarlet  Lake  were  there  and  if  the  Xin 
was  still  supposed  to  inhabit  its  vermilion  depths. 
And  at  that  she  turned  and  looked  at  him,  her  fore- 
finger still  resting  on  the  map. 

"Where  have  you  ever  heard  of  the  Scarlet  Lake 
and  the  Xin?"  she  asked  as  though  frightened. 


78  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

Recklow  said  quietly  that  as  a  boy  he  had  served 
under  Gordon  and  Sir  Robert. 

"If,  as  a  boy,  you  served  under  Chinese  Gordon, 
you  already  know  much  of  what  I  have  told  you, 
Mr.  Recklow.  Is  it  not  true?"  she  demanded  ner- 
vously. 

"That  makes  no  difference,"  he  replied  with  a 
smile.  "It  is  all  very  new  to  these  three  young  gen- 
tlemen. And  as  for  myself,  I  am  checking  up  what 
you  say  and  comparing  it  with  what  I  heard  many, 
many  years  ago  when  my  comrade  Barres  and  I 
were  in  Yian." 

"Did  you  really  know  Sir  Robert  Hart?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  why  do  you  not  explain  to  these  gentle- 
men?" 

"Dear  child,"  he  interrupted  gently,  "what  did 
Chinese  Gordon  or  Sir  Robert  Hart,  or  even  my 
comrade  Barres,  or  I  myself  know  about  occult  Asia 
in  comparison  to  what  you  know? — a  girl  who  has 
actually  served  the  mysteries  of  Erlik  for  four 
amazing  years  I" 

She  paled  a  trifle,  came  slowly  across  the  room 
to  where  Recklow  was  seated,  laid  a  timid  hand  on 
his  sleeve. 

"Do  you  believe  there  are  sorcerers  in  Asia?" 
she  asked  with  that  child-like  directness  which  her 
wonderful  blue  eyes  corroborated. 

Recklow  remained  silent. 

"Because,"  she  went  on,  "if,  in  your  heart,  you  do 


THE  ASSASSINS  79 

not  believe  this  to  be  an  accursed  fact,  then  what  I 
have  to  say  will  mean  nothing  to  any  of  you." 

Recklow  touched  his  short,  silvery  moustache, 
hesitating.  Then : 

"The  worship  of  Erlik  is  devil  worship,"  he  said. 
"Also  I  am  entirely  prepared  to  believe  that  there 
are,  among  the  Yezidees,  adepts  who  employ  scien- 
tific weapons  against  civilisation — who  have  proba- 
bly obtained  a  rather  terrifying  knowledge  of  psychic 
laws  which  they  use  scientifically,  and  which  to  or- 
dinary, God-fearing  folk  appear  to  be  the  black 
magic  of  sorcerers." 

Cleves  said:  "The  employment  by  the  huns  of 
poison  gases  and  long-range  cannon  is  a  parallel  case. 
Before  the  war  we  could  not  believe  in  the  possi- 
bility of  a  cannon  that  threw  shells  a  distance  of 
seventy  miles." 

The  girl  still  addressed  herself  to  Recklow: 
"Then  you  do  not  believe  there  are  real  sorcerers  in 
Asia,  Mr.  Recklow?" 

"Not  sorcerers  with  supernatural  powers  for  evil. 
Only  degenerate  human  beings  who,  somehow,  have 
managed  to  tap  invisible  psychic  currents,  and  have 
learned  how  to  use  terrific  forces  about  which,  so 
far,  we  know  practically  nothing." 

She  spoke  again  in  the  same  uneasy  voice:  "Then 
you  do  not  believe  that  either  God  or  Satan  is  in- 
volved?" 

"No,"  he  replied  smilingly,  "and  you  must  not  so 
believe." 

"Nor  the — the  destruction  of  human  souls,"  she 


80  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

persisted;  "you  do  not  believe  it  is  being  accom- 
plished to-day?" 

"Not  in  the  slightest,  dear  young  lady,"  he  said 
cheerfully. 

"Do  you  not  believe  that  to  have  been  instructed 
in  such  unlawful  knowledge  is  damning?  Do  you 
not  believe  that  ability  to  employ  unknown  forces 
is  forbidden  of  God,  and  that  to  disobey  His  law 
means  death  to  the  soul?" 

"No!" 

"That  it  is  the  price  one  pays  to  Satan  for  occult 
power  over  people's  minds?"  she  insisted. 

"Hypnotic  suggestion  is  not  one  of  the  cardinal 
sins,"  explained  Recklow,  still  smiling — "unless  wick- 
edly employed.  The  Yezidee  priesthood  is  a  band 
of  so-called  sorcerers  only  because  of  their  wicked 
employment  of  whatever  hypnotic  and  psychic  knowl- 
edge they  may  have  obtained. 

"There  was  nothing  intrinsically  wicked  in  the 
huns'  discovery  of  phosgene.  But  the  use  they 
made  of  it  made  devils  out  of  them.  My  ability 
to  manufacture  phosgene  gas  is  no  crime.  But  if 
I  manufacture  it  and  use  it  to  poison  innocent  hu- 
man beings,  then,  in  that  sense,  I  am,  perhaps,  a  sort 
of  modern  sorcerer." 

Tressa  Nome  turned  paler: 

"I  had  better  tell  you  that  I  have  used — forbidden 
knowledge — which  the  Yezidees  taught  me  in  the 
temple  of  Erlik." 

"Used  it  how?"  demanded  Cleves. 


THE  ASSASSINS  81 

"To — to  earn  a  living.  .  .  .  And  once  or  twice 
to  defend  myself." 

There  was  the  slightest  scepticism  in  Recklow's 
bland  smile.  "You  did  quite  right,  Miss  Nome." 

She  had  become  very  white  now.  She  stood  be- 
side Recklow,  her  back  toward  the  suspended  map, 
and  looked  in  a  scared  sort  of  way  from  one  to  the 
other  of  the  men  seated  before  her,  turning  finally  to 
Cleves,  and  coming  toward  him. 

"I — I  once  killed  a  man,"  she  said  with  a  catch  in 
her  breath. 

Cleves  reddened  with  astonishment.  "Why  did 
you  do  that?"  he  asked. 

"He  was  already  on  his  way  to  kill  me  in  bed." 

"You  were  perfectly  right,"  remarked  Recklow 
coolly. 

"I  don't  know  ...  I  was  in  bed.  .  .  .  And  then, 
on  the  edge  of  sleep,  I  felt  his  mind  groping  to  get 
hold  of  mine — feeling  about  in  the  darkness  to  get 
hold  of  my  brain  and  seize  it  and  paralyse  it." 

All  colour  had  left  her  face.  Cleves  gripped  the 
arm  of  his  chair  and  watched  her  intently. 

"I — I  had  only  a  moment's  mental  freedom,"  she 
went  on  in  a  ghost  of  a  voice.  "I  was  just  able  to 
rouse  myself,  fight  off  those  murderous  brain-fingers 
— let  loose  a  clear  mental  ray.  .  .  .  And  then,  O 
God!  I  saw  him  in  his  room  with  his  Kalmuck 
knife — saw  him  already  on  his  way  to  murder  me — 
Gutchlug  Khan,  the  Yezidee — looking  about  in  his 
bedroom  for  a  shroud.  .  .  .  And  when — when  he 
reached  for  the  bed  to  draw  forth  a  fine,  white  sheet 


82  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

for  the  shroud  without  which  no  Yezidee  dares  jour- 
ney deathward — then — then  I  became  frightened. 
.  .  .  And  I  killed  him — I  slew  him  there  in  his 
hotel  bedroom  on  the  floor  above  mine!" 

Selden  moistened  his  lips :  "That  Oriental,  Gutch- 
lug,  died  from  heart-failure  in  a  San  Francisco  ho- 
tel," he  said.  "I  was  there  at  the  time." 

"He  died  by  the  fangs  of  a  little  yellow  snake," 
whispered  the  girl. 

"There  was  no  snake  in  his  room,"  retorted 
Cleves. 

"And  no  wound  on  his  body,"  added  Selden.  "I 
attended  the  autopsy." 

She  said,  faintly:  "There  was  no  snake,  and  no 
wound,  as  you  say.  .  .  .  Yet  Gutchlug  died  of  both 
there  in  his  bedroom.  .  .  .  And  before  he  died  he 
heard  his  soul  bidding  him  farewell;  and  he  saw  the 
death-adder  coiled  in  the  sheet  he  clutched — saw  the 
thing  strike  him  again  and  again — saw  and  felt  the 
tiny  wounds  on  his  left  hand;  felt  the  fangs  pricking 
deep,  deep  into  the  veins ;  died  of  it  there  within  the 
minute — died  of  the  swiftest  poison  known.  And 
yet " 

She  turned  her  dead-white  face  to  Cleves — "And 
yet  there  was  no  snake  there!  .  .  .  And  never  had 
been.  .  .  .  And  so  I — I  ask  you,  gentlemen,  if  souls 
do  not  die  when  minds  learn  to  fight  death  with 
death — and  deal  it  so  swiftly,  so  silently,  while  one's 
body  lies,  unstirring  on  a  bed — in  a  locked  room  on 
the  floor  below " 


THE  ASSASSINS  83 

She  swayed  a  little,  put  out  one  hand  rather 
blindly. 

Recklow  rose  and  passed  a  muscular  arm  around 
her;  Cleves,  beside  her,  held  her  left  hand,  crushing 
it,  without  intention,  until  she  opened  her  eyes  with  a 
cry  of  pain. 

"Are  you  all  right?"  asked  Recklow  bluntly. 

"Yes."  She  turned  and  looked  at  Cleves  and  he 
caressed  her  bruised  hand  as  though  dazed. 

"Tell  me,"  she  said  to  Cleves — "you  who  know — 

know  more  about  my  mind  than  anybody  living " 

a  painful  colour  surged  into  her  face — but  she  went 
on  steadily,  forcing  herself  to  meet  his  gaze:  "tell 
me,  Mr.  Cleves — do  you  still  believe  that  nothing 
can  really  destroy  my  soul?  And  that  it  shall  yet 
win  through  to  safety?" 

He  said:  "Your  soul  is  in  God's  keeping,  and  al- 
ways shall  be.  ...  And  if  the  Yezidees  have  made 
you  believe  otherwise,  they  lie." 

Recklow  added  in  a  slow,  perplexed  way:  "I  have 
no  personal  knowledge  of  psychic  power.  I  am  not 
psychic,  not  susceptible.  But  if  you  actually  possess 
such  ability,  Miss  Nome,  and  if  you  have  employed 
such  knowledge  to  defend  your  life,  then  you  have 
done  absolutely  right." 

"No  guilt  touches  you,"  added  Selden  with  an 
involuntary  shiver,  "if  by  hypnosis  or  psychic  ability 
you  really  did  put  an  end  to  that  would-be  murderer, 
Gutchlug." 

Selden  said:  "If  Gutchlug  died  by  the  fangs  of  a 
yellow  death-adder  which  existed  only  in  his  own 


84.  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

mind,  and  if  you  actually  had  anything  to  do  with  it 
you  acted  purely  in  self-defence." 

"You  did  your  full  duty,"  added  Benton — "but — 
good  God! — it  seems  incredible  to  me,  that  such 
power  can  actually  be  available  in  the  world!" 

Recklow  spoke  again  in  his  pleasant,  undisturbed 
voice:  "Go  back  to  the  map,  Miss  Nome,  and  tell 
us  a  little  more  about  this  rather  terrifying  thing 
which  you  believe  menaces  the  civilised  world  with 
destruction." 

Tressa  Nome  laid  a  slim  finger  on  the  map.  Her 
voice  had  become  steady.  She  said: 

"The  devil-worship,  of  which  one  of  the  modern 
developments  is  Bolshevism,  and  another  the  terror- 
ism of  the  hun,  began  in  Asia  long  before  Christ's 
advent:  At  least  so  it  was  taught  us  in  the  temple 
of  Erlik. 

"It  has  always  existed,  its  aim  always  has  been 
the  annihilation  of  good  and  the  elevation  of  evil; 
the  subjection  of  right  by  might,  and  the  worldwide 
triumph  of  wrong. 

"Perhaps  it  is  as  old  as  the  first  battle  between 
God  and  Satan.  I  have  wondered  about  it,  some' 
times.  There  in  the  dusk  of  the  temple  when  the 
Eight  Assassins  came — the  eight  Sheiks-el-Djebel, 
all  in  white — chanting  the  Yakase  of  Sabbah — al« 
ways  that  dirge  when  they  came  and  spread  their 
eight  white  shrouds  on  the  temple  steps " 

Her  voice  caught;  she  waited  to  recover  her  com- 
posure. Then  went  on : 


THE  ASSASSINS  85 

"The  ambition  of  Genghis  was  to  conquer  the 
world  by  force  of  arms.  It  was  merely  of  physical 
subjection  that  he  dreamed.  But  the  Slayer  of 
Souls " 

"Who?"  asked  Recklow  sharply. 

"The  Slayer  of  Souls — Erlik's  vice-regent  on  earth 
— Hassan  Sabbah.  The  Old  Man  of  the  Mountain. 
It  is  of  him  I  am  speaking,"  exclaimed  Tressa  Nome 
— with  quiet  resolution.  "Genghis  sought  only  physi- 
cal conquest  of  man ;  the  Yezidee's  ambition  is  more 
awful,  for  he  is  attempting  to  surprise  and  seize  the 
•very  minds  of  men!" 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  Tressa  looked  palely 
upon  the  four. 

"The  Yezidees — who  you  tell  me  are  not  sorcerers 
— are  using  power — which  you  tell  me  is  not  magic 
accursed  by  God — to  waylay,  capture,  enslave,  and 
destroy  the  minds  and  souls  of  mankind. 

"It  may  be  that  what  they  employ  is  hypnotic  abil- 
ity and  psychic  power  and  can  be,  some  day,  ex- 
plained on  a  scientific  basis  when  we  learn  more 
about  the  occult  laws  which  govern  these  phenomena. 

"But  could  anything  render  the  threat  less  awful? 
For  there  have  existed  for  centuries — perhaps  al- 
ways— a  sect  of  Satanists  determined  upon  the  de- 
struction of  everything  that  is  pure  and  holy  and 
good  on  earth;  and  they  are  resolved  to  substitute 
for  righteousness  the  dreadful  reign  of  hell. 

"In  the  beginning  there  were  comparatively  few 
of  these  human  demons.  Gradually,  through  the 


86  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

eras,  they  have  increased.  In  the  twelfth  century 
there  were  fifty  thousand  of  the  Sect  of  Assassins. 

"Beside  the  castle  of  the  Slayer  of  Souls  on  Mount 

Alamout "  she  laid  her  finger  on  the  map — 

"eight  other  towers  were  erected  for  the  Eight  Chief 
Assassins,  called  Sheiks-el-Djebel. 

"In  the  temple  we  were  taught  where  these  eight 
towers  stood."  She  picked  up  a  pencil,  and  on  eight 
blank  spaces  of  unexplored  and  unmapped  Mon- 
golia she  made  eight  crosses.  Then  she  turned  to 
the  men  behind  her. 

"It  was  taught  to  us  in  the  temple  that  from  these 
eight  foci  of  infection  the  disease  of  evil  has  been 
spreading  throughout  the  world;  from  these  eight 
towers  have  gone  forth  every  year  the  emissaries  of 
evil — perverted  missionaries — to  spread  the  poison- 
ous propaganda,  to  teach  it,  to  tamper  stealthily  with 
the  minds  of  men,  dominate  them,  pervert  them,  in- 
struct them  in  the  creed  of  the  Assassin  of  Souls. 

"All  over  the  world  are  people,  already  contami- 
nated, whose  minds  are  already  enslaved  and  poi- 
soned, and  who  are  infecting  the  still  healthy  brains 
of  others — stealthily  possessing  themselves  of  the 
minds  of  mankind — teaching  them  evil,  inviting  them 
to  mock  the  precepts  of  Christ. 

"Of  such  lost  minds  are  the  degraded  brains  of 
the  Germans — the  pastors  and  philosophers  who 
teach  that  might  is  right. 

"Of  such  crippled  minds  are  the  Bolsheviki,  poi- 
soned long,  long  ago  by  close  contact  with  Asia 


THE  ASSASSINS  87 

which,  before  that,  had  infected  and  enslaved  the 
minds  of  the  ruling  classes  with  ferocious  philosophy. 

"Of  such  minds  are  all  anarchists  of  every  shade 
and  stripe — all  terrorists,  all  disciples  of  violence, — 
the  murderously  envious,  the  slothful  slinking 
brotherhood  which  prowls  through  the  world  tak- 
ing every  opportunity  to  set  it  afire ;  those  mentally 
dulled  by  reason  of  excesses;  those  weak  intellects 
become  unsound  through  futile  gabble, — parlour  so- 
cialists, amateur  revolutionists,  theoretical  incapa- 
bles  excited  by  discussion  fit  only  for  healthy  minds." 

She  left  the  map  and  came  over  to  where  the  four 
men  were  seated  terribly  intent  upon  her  every  word. 

"In  the  temple  of  Erlik,  where  my  girlhood  was 
passed  after  the  murder  of  my  parents,  I  learned 
what  I  am  repeating  to  you,"  she  said. 

"I  learned  this,  also,  that  the  Eight  Towers  still 
exist — still  stand  to-day, — at  least  theoretically — 
and  that  from  the  Eight  Towers  pours  forth  across 
the  world  a  stream  of  poison. 

"I  was  told  that,  to  every  country,  eight  Yezidees 
were  allotted — eight  sorcerers — or  adepts  in  scien- 
tific psychology  if  you  prefer  it — whose  mission  is  to 
teach  the  gospel  of  hell  and  gradually  but  surely  to 
win  the  minds  of  men  to  the  service  of  the  Slayer 
of  Souls. 

"That  is  what  was  taught  us  in  the  temple.  We 
were  educated  in  the  development  of  occult  powers 
— for  it  seems  all  human  beings  possess  this  psychic 
power  latent  within  them — only  few,  even  when  in- 


88  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

structed,  acquire  any  ability  to  control  and  use  this 
force.  .  .  . 

"I — I  learned — rapidly,  I  even  thought,  some- 
times, that  the  Yezidees  were  beginning  to  be  a  little 
afraid  of  me, — even  the  Hassani  priests.  .  .  .  And 
the  Sheiks-el-Djebel,  spreading  their  shrouds  on  the 
temple  steps,  looked  at  me  with  unquiet  eyes,  where  I 
stood  like  a  corpse  amid  the  incense  clouds " 

She  passed,  her  fingers  over  her  eyelids,  then 
framed  her  face  between  both  hands  for  a  moment's 
thought  lost  in  tragic  retrospection. 

"Kai !"  she  whispered  dreamily  as  though  to  her- 
self— "what  Erlik  awoke  within  my  body  that  was 
asleep,  God  knows,  but  it  was  as  though  a  twin  com- 
rade arose  within  me  and  looked  out  through  my 
eyes  upon  a  world  which  never  before  had  been 
visible." 

Utter  silence  reigned  in  the  room :  Cleves's  breath- 
ing seemed  almost  painful  to  him  so  intently  was  he 
listening  and  watching  this  girl;  Benton's  hands 
whitened  with  his  grip  on  the  chair-arms;  Selden, 
tense,  absorbed,  kept  his  keen  gaze  of  a  business  man 
fastened  on  her  face.  Recklow  slowly  caressed  the 
cold  bowl  of  his  pipe  with  both  thumbs. 

Tressa  Nome's  strange  and  remote  eyes  subtly 
altered,  and  she  lifted  her  head  and  looked  calmly  at 
the  men  before  her. 

"I  think  that  there  is  nothing  more  for  me  to 
add,"  she  said.  "The  Red  Spectre  of  Anarchy,  called 
Bolshevism  at  present,  threatens  our  country.  Our 


THE  ASSASSINS  89 

Government  is  now  awake  to  this  menace  and  the 
Secret  Service  is  moving  everywhere. 

"Great  damage  already  has  been  done  to  the 
minds  of  many  people  in  this  Republic;  poison  has 
spread;  is  spreading.  The  Eight  Towers  still  stand. 
The  Eight  Assassins  are  in  America. 

"But  these  eight  Assassins  know  me  to  be  their 
enemy.  .  .  .  They  will  surely  attempt  to  kill  me. 
...  I  don't  believe  I  can  avoid — death — very  long. 
.  .  .  But  I  want  to  serve  my  country  and — and 
mankind." 

"They'll  have  to  get  me  first,"  said  Cleves,  blunt- 
ly. "I  shall  not  permit  you  out  of  my  sight." 

Recklow  said  in  a  musing  voice:  "And  these 
eight  gentlemen,  who  are  very  likely  to  hurt  us,  also, 
are  the  first  people  we  ought  to  hunt." 

"To  get  them,"  added  Selden,  "we  ought  to  choke 
the  stream  at  its  source." 

"To  find  out  who  they  are  is  what  is  going  to 
worry  us,"  added  Benton.  Cleves  had  stood  holding 
a  chair  for  Tressa  Nome.  Finally  she  noticed  it  and 
seated  herself  as  though  tired. 

"Is  Sanang  one  of  these  eight?"  he  asked  her. 
The  girl  turned  and  looked  up  at  him,  and  he  saw 
the  flush  mounting  in  her  face. 

"Sometimes,"  she  said  steadily,  "I  have  almost 
believed  he  was  Erlik's  own  vice-regent  on  earth — 
the  Slayer  of  Souls  himself." 

Benton  and  Selden  had  gone.  Recklow  left  a  little 
later.  Cleves  accompanied  him  out  to  the  landing. 


90  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"Are  you  going  to  keep  Miss  Nome  here  with 
you  for  the  present?"  inquired  the  older  man. 

"Yes.  I  dare  not  let  her  out  of  my  sight,  Reck- 
low.  What  else  can  I  do?" 

"I  don't  know.  Is  she  prepared  for  the  conse- 
quences?" 

"Gossip?    Slander?" 

"Of  course." 

"I  can  get  a  housekeeper." 

"That  only  makes  it  look  worse." 

Cleves  reddened.  "Well,  do  you  want  to  find  her 
in  some  hotel  or  apartment  with  her  throat  cut?" 

"No,"  replied  Recklow,  gently,  "I  do  not." 

"Then  what  else  is  there  to  do  but  keep  her  here  in 
my  own  apartment  and  never  let  her  out  of  my 
sight  until  we  can  find  and  lock  up  the  eight  gen- 
tlemen who  are  undoubtedly  bent  on  murdering 
her?" 

"Isn't  there  some  woman  in  the  Service  who 
could  help  out?  I  could  mention  several." 

"I  tell  you  I  can't  trust  Tressa  Nome  to  any- 
body except  myself,"  insisted  Cleves.  "I  got  her  into 
this;  I  am  responsible  if  she  is  murdered;  I  dare  not 
entrust  her  safety  to  anybody  else.  And,  Recklow, 
it's  a  ghastly  responsibility  for  a  man  to  induce  a 
young  girl  to  face  death,  even  in  the  service  of  her 
country." 

"If  she  remains  here  alone  with  you  she'll  face 
social  destruction,"  remarked  Recklow. 


THE  ASSASSINS  91 

Cleves  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  he  burst 
out:  "Well,  what  am  I  to  do?  What  is  there  left 
for  me  to  do  except  to  watch  over  her  and  see  her 
through  this  devilish  business?  What  other  way 
have  I  to  protect  her,  Recklow?" 

"You  could  offer  her  the  protection  of  your  name," 
suggested  the  other,  carelessly. 

"What?    You  mean — marry  her?" 

"Well,  nobody  else  would  be  inclined  to,  Cleves, 
if  it  ever  becomes  known  she  has  lived  here  quite 
alone  with  you." 

Cleves  stared  at  the  elder  man. 

"This  is  nonsense,"  he  said  in  a  harsh  voice. 
"That  young  girl  doesn't  want  to  marry  anybody. 
Neither  do  I.  She  doesn't  wish  to  have  her  throat 
cut,  that's  all.  And  I'm  determined  she  shan't." 

"There  are  stealthier  assassins,  Cleves, — the  slay- 
ers of  reputations.  It  goes  badly  with  their  victim. 
It  does  indeed." 

"Well,  hang  it,  what  do  you  think  I  ought  to 
do?" 

"I  think  you  ought  to  marry  her  if  you're  going 
to  keep  her  here." 

"Suppose  she  doesn't  mind  the  unconventionality 
of  it?" 

"All  women  mind.  No  woman,  at  heart,  is  un- 
conventional, Cleves." 

"She — she  seems  to  agree  with  me  that  she  ought 
to  stay  here.  .  .  .  Besides,  she  has  no  money,  no 
relatives,  no  friends  in  America " 


92  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"All  the  more  tragic.  If  you  really  believe  it  to 
be  your  duty  to  keep  her  here  where  you  can  look 
after  her  bodily  safety,  then  the  other  obligation  is 
still  heavier.  And  there  may  come  a  day  when  Miss 
Nome  will  wish  that  you  had  been  less  conscientious 
concerning  the  safety  of  her  pretty  throat.  .  .  .  For 
the  knife  of  the  Yezidee  is  swifter  and  less  cruel  than 
the  tongue  that  slays  with  a  smile.  .  .  .  And  this 
young  girl  has  many  years  to  live,  after  this  business 
of  Bolshevism  is  dead  and  forgotten  in  our  Repub- 
lic." 

"Recklow!" 

"Yes?" 

"You  think  I  might  dare  try  to  find  a  room  some- 
where else  for  her  and  let  her  take  her  chances? 
Do  you?" 

"It's  your  affair." 

"I  know — hang  it!  I  know  it's  my  affair.  I've 
unintentionally  made  it  so.  But  can't  you  tell  me 
what  I  ought  to  do?" 

"I  can't." 

"What  would  you  do?" 

"Don't  ask  me,"  returned  Recklow,  sharply.  "If 
you're  not  man  enough  to  come  to  a  decision  you 
may  turn  her  over  to  me." 

Cleves  flushed  brightly.  "Do  you  think  you  are 
old  enough  to  take  my  job  and  avoid  scandal?" 

Recklow's  cold  eyes  rested  on  him :  "If  you  like," 
he  said,  "I'll  assume  your  various  kinds  of  personal 
responsibility  toward  Miss  Nome." 


THE  ASSASSINS  93 

Cleve's  visage  burned.  "I'll  shoulder  my  own 
burdens,"  he  retorted. 

"Sure.  I  knew  you  would."  And  Recklow  smiled 
and  held  out  his  hand.  Cleves  took  it  without  cor- 
diality. Standing  so,  Recklow,  still  smiling,  said: 
"What  a  rotten  deal  that  child  has  had — is  hav- 
ing. Her  father  and  mother  were  fine  people.  Did 
you  ever  hear  of  Dr.  Nome?" 

"She  mentioned  him  once." 

"They  were  up-State  people  of  most  excellent  an- 
tecedents and  no  money. 

"Dr.  Nome  was  our  Vice-Consul  at  Yarkand  in 
the  province  of  Sin  Kiang.  All  he  had  was  his  sal- 
ary, and  he  lost  that  and  his  post  when  the  adminis- 
tration changed.  Then  he  went  into  the  spice  trade. 

"Some  Jew  syndicate  here  sent  him  up  the  Yar- 
kand River  to  see  what  could  be  done  about  jade 
and  gold  concessions.  He  was  on  that  business  when 
the  tragedy  happened.  The  Kalmuks  and  Khirghiz 
were  responsible,  under  Yezidee  instigation.  And 
there  you  are : — and  here  is  his  child,  Cleves — back, 
by  some  miracle,  from  that  flowering  hell  called 
Yian,  believing  in  her  heart  that  she  really  lost  her 
soul  there  in  the  temple.  And  now,  here  in  her  own 
native  land,  she  is  exposed  to  actual  and  hourly  dan- 
ger of  assassination.  .  .  .  Poor  kid !  .  .  .  Did  you 
ever  hear  of  a  rottener  deal,  Cleves?" 

Their  hands  had  remained  clasped  while  Recklow 
was  speaking.  He  spoke  again,  clearly,  amiably: 

"To  lay  down  one's  life  for  a  friend  is  fine.    I'm 


94  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

not  sure  that  it's  finer  to  offer  one's  honour  in  behalf 
of  a  girl  whose  honour  is  at  stake." 

After  a  moment  Cleves's  grip  tightened 

"All  right,"  he  said. 

Recklow  went  downstair 


CHAPTER  VI 

IN   BATTLE 

CLEVES  went  back  into  the  apartment;  he  no- 
ticed that  Miss  Nome's  door  was  ajar. 

To  get  to  his  own  room  he  had  to  pass 
that  way;  and  he  saw  her,  seated  before  the  mirror, 
partly  undressed,  her  dark,  lustrous  hair  being 
combed  out  and  twisted  up  for  the  night. 

Whether  this  carelessness  was  born  of  innocence 
or  of  indifference  mattered  little;  he  suddenly  real- 
ised that  these  conditions  wouldn't  do.  And  his 
first  feeling  was  of  anger. 

"If  you'll  put  on  your  robe  and  slippers,"  he 
said  in  an  unpleasant  voice,  "I'd  like  to  talk  to  you 
for  a  few  moments." 

She  turned  her  head  on  its  charming  neck  and 
looked  around  and  up  at  him  over  one  naked  shoul- 
der. 

"Shall  I  come  into  your  room?"  she  inquired. 

"No!  .  .  .  when  you've  got  some  clothes  on, 
call  me." 

"I'm  quite  ready  now,"  she  said  calmly,  and  drew 

the  Chinese  slippers  over  her  bare  feet  and  passed 

a  silken  loop  over  the  silver  bell  buttons  on  her 

right  shoulder.     Then,  undisturbed,  she  continued 

95 


96  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

to  twist  up  her  hair,  following  his  movements  in  the 
mirror  with  unconcerned  blue  eyes. 

He  entered  and  seated  himself,  the  impatient  ex- 
pression still  creasing  his  forehead  and  altering  his 
rather  agreeable  features, 

"Miss  Nome,"  he  said,  "you're  absolutely  con- 
vinced that  these  people  mean  to  do  you  harm.  Isn't 
that  true?" 

"Of  course,"  she  said  simply. 

"Then,  until  we  get  them,  you're  running  a  seri- 
ous risk.  In  fact,  you  live  in  hourly  peril.  That  is 
your  belief,  isn't  it?" 

She  put  the  last  peg  into  her  thick,  curly  hair, 
lowered  her  arms,  turned,  dropped  one  knee  over 
the  other,  and  let  her  candid  gaze  rest  on  him  in 
silence. 

"What  I  mean  to  explain,"  he  said  coldly,  "is 
that  as  long  as  I  induced  you  to  go  into  this  affair 
I'm  responsible  for  you.  If  I  let  you  out  of  my 
sight  here  in  New  York  and  if  anything  happens  to 
you,  I'll  be  as  guilty  as  the  dirty  beast  who  takes 
your  life.  What  is  your  opinion?  It's  up  to  me  to 
stand  by  you  now,  isn't  it?" 

"I  had  rather  be  near  you — for  a  while,"  she  said 
timidly. 

"Certainly.  But,  Miss  Nome,  our  living  here  to- 
gether, in  my  apartment — or  living  together  any- 
where else — is  never  going  to  be  understood  by 
other  people.  You  know  that,  don't  you?" 

After  a  silence,  still  looking  at  him  out  of  clear, 
unembarrassed  eyes: 


IN  BATTLE  97 

"I  know.  ...  But  ...  I  don't  want  to  die." 

"I  told  you,"  he  said  sharply,  "they'll  have  to 
kill  me  first.  So  that's  all  right.  But  how  about 
what  I  am  doing  to  your  reputation?" 

"I  understand." 

"I  suppose  you  do.  You're  very  young.  Once 
out  of  this  blooming  mess,  you  will  have  all  your 
life  before  you.  But  if  I  kill  your  reputation  for  you 
while  saving  your  body  from  death,  you'll  find  no 
happiness  in  living.  Do  you  realise  that?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  then?  Have  you  any  solution  for  this 
problem  that  confronts  you?" 

"No." 

"Haven't  you  any  idea  to  suggest?" 

"I  don't — don't  want  to  die,"  she  repeated  in  an 
unsteady  voice. 

He  bit  his  lip;  and  after  a  moment's  scowling 
silence  under  the  merciless  scrutiny  of  her  eyes: 
"Then  you  had  better  marry  me,"  he  said. 

It  was  some  time  before  she  spoke.  For  a  sec- 
ond or  two  he  sustained  the  searching  quality  of 
her  gaze,  but  it  became  unendurable. 

Presently  she  said:  "I  don't  ask  it  of  you.  I  can 
shoulder  my  own  burdens."  And  he  remembered 
what  he  had  just  said  to  Recklow. 

"You've  shouldered  more  than  your  share,"  he 
blurted  out.  "You  are  deliberately  risking  death 
to  serve  your  country.  I  enlisted  you.  The  least  I 
can  do  is  to  say  my  affections  are  not  engaged;  so 


'98  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

naturally  the  idea  of — of  marrying  anybody  never 
entered  my  head." 

"Then  you  do  not  care  for  anybody  else?" 

Her  candour  amazed  and    disconcerted  him. 

"No."  He  looked  at  her,  curiously.  "Do  you  care 
for  anybody  in  that  way?" 

A  light  blush  tinted  her  face.  She  said  gravely: 
"If  we  really  are  going  to  marry  each  other  I  had 
better  tell  you  that  I  did  care  for  Prince  Sanang." 

"What!"  he  cried,  astounded. 

"It  seems  incredible,  doesn't  it?  Yet  it  is  quite 
true.  I  fought  him;  I  fought  myself;  I  stood  guard 
over  my  mind  and  senses  there  in  the  temple ;  I  knew 
what  he  was  and  I  detested  him  and  I  mocked  him 
there  in  the  temple.  .  .  .  And  I  loved  him." 

"Sanang!"  he  repeated,  not  only  amazed  but  also 
oddly  incensed  at  the  naive  confession. 

"Yes,  Sanang.  ...  If  we  are  to  marry,  I  thought 
I  ought  to  tell  you.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

"Certainly,"  he  replied  in  an  absent-minded  way, 
his  mind  still  grasping  at  the  thing.  Then,  looking 
up:  "Do  you  still  care  for  this  fellow?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Are  you  perfectly  sure,  Miss  Nome?" 

"As  sure  as  that  I  am  alive  when  I  awake  from  a 
nightmare.  My  hatred  for  Sanang  is  very  bitter," 
she  added  frankly,  "and  yet  somehow  it  is  not  my 
wish  to  see  him  harmed." 

"You  still  care  for  him  a  little?" 
1     "Oh,  no.     But — can't  you  understand  that  it  is 
not  in  me  to  wish  him  harm?  .  .  .  No  girlfeels  that 


IN  BATTLE  99 

way — once  having  cared.  To  become  indifferent  to 
a  familiar  thing  is  perhaps  natural;  but  to  desire  to 
harm  it  is  not  in  my  character." 

"You  have  plenty  of  character,"  he  said,  staring 
at  her. 

"You  don't  think  so.     Do  you?" 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  of  what  I  said  to  you  on  the  roof-garden 
that  night.  It  was  shameful,  wasn't  it?" 

"You  behaved  like  many  a  thoroughbred,"  he  re- 
turned bluntly;  "you  were  scared,  bewildered,  ready 
to  bolt  to  any  shelter  offered." 

"It's  quite  true  I  didn't  know  what  to  do  to  keep 
alive.  And  that  was  all  that  interested  me — to  keep 
on  living — having  lost  my  soul  and  being  afraid  to 
die  and  find  myself  in  hell  with  Erlik." 

He  said:  "Isn't  that  absurd  notion  out  of  your 
head  yet?" 

"I  don't  know.  ...  I  can't  suddenly  believe  my- 
self safe  after  all  those  years.  It  is  not  easy  to  root 
out  what  was  planted  in  childhood  and  what  grew  to 
be  part  of  one  during  the  tender  and  formative  pe- 
riod. .  .  .  You  can't  understand,  Mr.  Cleves — you 
can't  ever  feel  or  visualise  what  became  my  daily 
life  in  a  region  which  was  half  paradise  and  half 
hell " 

She  bent  her  head  and  took  her  face  between  her 
fingers,  and  sat  so,  brooding. 

After  a  little  while:  "Well,"  he  said,  "there's 
only  one  way  to  manage  this  affair — if  you  are  will- 
ing, Miss  Nome." 


100  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

She  merely  lifted  her  eyes. 

"I  think,"  he  said,  "there's  only  that  one  way  out 
of  it.  But  you  understand" — he  turned  pink — "it 
will  be  quite  all  right — your  liberty — privacy — I 
shan't  bother  you — annoy " 

She  merely  looked  at  him. 

"After  this  Bolshevistic  flurry  is  settled — in  a  year 
or  two— or  three — then  you  can  very  easily  get  your 
freedom;  and  you'll  have  all  life  before  you"  .  .  . 
he  rose:  " — and  a  jolly  good  friend  in  me — a  good 
comrade,  Miss  Nome.  And  that  means  you  can 
count  on  me  when  you  go  into  business — or  whatever 
you  decide  to  do." 

She  also  had  risen,  standing  slim  and  calm  in  her 
exquisite  Chinese  robe,  the  sleeves  of  which  covered 
her  finger  tips. 

"Are  you  going  to  marry  me?"  she  asked. 

"If  you'll  let  me." 

"Yes — I  will  .  .  .  it's  so  generous  and  consid- 
erate of  you.  I — I  don't  ask  it;  I  really  don't " 

"But  /  do." 

" — And  I  never  dreamed  of  such  a  thing." 

He  forced  a  smile.  "Nor  I.  It's  rather  a  crazy 
jthing  to  do.  But  I  know  of  no  saner  alternative. 
...  So  we  had  better  get  our  license  to-morrow. 
.  .  .  And  that  settles  it." 

He  turned  to  go;  and,  on  her  threshold,  his  feet 
caught  in  something  on  the  floor  and  he  stumbled, 
trying  to  free  his  feet  from  a  roll  of  soft  white  cloth 
lying  there  on  the  carpet.  And  when  he  picked  it  up, 


IN  BATTLE  101 

it  unrolled,  and  a  knife  fell  out  of  the  folds  of  cloth 
and  struck  his  foot. 

Still  perplexed,  not  comprehending,  he  stooped  to 
recover  the  knife.  Then,  straightening  up,  he  found 
himself  looking  into  the  colourless  face  of  Tressa 
Nome. 

"What's  all  this?"  he  asked— "this  sheet  and 
knife  here  on  the  floor  outside  your  door?" 

She  answered  with  difficulty:  "They  have  sent 
you  your  shroud,  I  think." 

"Are  not  those  things  yours?  Were  they  not  al- 
ready here  in  your  baggage?"  he  demanded  incredu- 
lously. Then,  realising  that  they  had  not  been 
there  on  the  door-sill  when  he  entered  her  room  a 
few  moments  since,  a  rough  chill  passed  over  him 
— the  icy  caress  of  fear. 

"Where  did  that  thing  come  from?"  he  said 
hoarsely.  "How  could  it  get  here  when  my  door  is 
locked  and  bolted?  Unless  there's  somebody  hidden 
here!" 

Hot  anger  suddenly  flooded  him ;  he  drew  his  pis- 
tol and  sprang  into  the  passageway. 

"What  the  devil  is  all  this!"  he  repeated  furi- 
ously, flinging  open  his  bedroom  door  and  switching 
on  the  light. 

He  searched  his  room  in  a  rage,  went  on 
and  searched  the  dining-room,  smoking-room,  and 
kitchen,  and  every  clothes-press  and  closet,  always 
aware  of  Tressa's  presence  close  behind  him.  And 
when  there  remained  no  tiniest  nook  or  cranny  in 


102  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

the  place  unsearched,  he  stood  in  the  centre  of  the 
carpet  glaring  at  the  locked  and  bolted  door. 

He  heard  her  say  under  her  breath:  "This  is 
going  to  be  a  sleepless  night.  And  a  dangerous 
one."  And,  turning  to  stare  at  her,  saw  no  fear  in 
her  face,  only  excitement. 

He  still  held  clutched  in  his  left  hand  the  sheet  and 
the  knife.  Now  he  thrust  these  toward  her. 

"What's  this  damned  foolery,  anyway?"  he  de- 
manded harshly.  She  took  the  knife  with  a  slight 
shudder.  "There  is  something  engraved  on  the 
silver  hilt,"  she  said. 

He  bent  over  her  shoulder. 

"Eighur,"  she  added  calmly,  "not  Arabic.  The 
Mongols  had  no  written  characters  of  their  own." 

She  bent  closer,  studying  the  inscription.  After 
a  moment,  still  studying  the  Eighur  characters,  she 
rested  her  left  hand  on  his  shoulder — an  impulsive, 
unstudied  movement  that  might  have  meant  either 
confidence  or  protection. 

"Look,"  she  said,  "it  is  not  addressed  to  you  after 
all,  but  to  a  symbol — a  series  of  numbers,  53-6-26." 

"That  is  my  designation  in  the  Federal  Service," 
he  said,  sharply. 

"Oh!"  she  nodded  slowly.  "Then  this  is  what  is 
written  in  the  Mongol-Yezidee  dialect,  traced  out  in 
Eighur  characters:  'To  53-6-26!  By  one  of  the 
Eight  Assassins  the  Slayer  of  Souls  sends  this  shroud 
and  this  knife  from  Mount  Alamout.  Such  a  blade 
shall  divide  your  heart.  This  sheet  is  for  your 
corpse.'  " 


IN  BATTLE  103 

After  a  grim  silence  he  flung  the  soft  white  cloth 
on  the  floor. 

"There's  no  use  my  pretending  I'm  not  surprised 
and  worried,"  he  said;  "I  don't  know  how  that  cloth 
got  here.  Do  you?" 

"It  was  sent." 

"How?" 

She  shook  her  head  and  gave  him  a  grave,  con- 
fused look. 

"There  are  ways.  You  could  not  understand. 
.  .  .  This  is  going  to  be  a  sleepless  night  for  us." 

"You  can  go  to  bed,  Tressa.  I'll  sit  up  and  read 
and  keep  an  eye  on  that  door." 

"I  can't  let  you  remain  alone  here.  I'm  afraid 
to  do  that." 

He  gave  a  laugh,  not  quite  pleasant,  as  he  sud- 
denly comprehended  that  the  girl  now  considered 
their  roles  to  be  reversed. 

"Are  you  planning  to  sit  up  in  order  to  protect 
me?"  he  asked,  grimly  amused. 

"Do  you  mind?" 

"Why,  you  blessed  little  thing,  I  can  take  care  of 
myself.  How  funny  of  you,  when  I  am  trying  to 
plan  how  best  to  look  out  for  you!" 

But  her  face  remained  pale  and  concerned,  and 
she  rested  her  left  hand  more  firmly  on  his  shoul- 
der. 

"I  wish  to  remain  awake  with  you,"  she  said. 
"Because  I  myself  don't  fully  understand  this" — 
she  looked  at  the  knife  in  her  palm,  then  down  at 


104  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

the  shroud.  "It  is  going  to  be  a  strange  night  for 
us,"  she  sighed.  "Let  us  sit  together  here  on  the 
lounge  where  I  can  face  that  bolted  door.  And 
if  you  are  willing,  I  am  going  to  turn  out  the 

lights "  She  suddenly  bent  forward  and 

switched  them  off — "because  I  must  keep  my  mind 
on  guard." 

"Why  do  you  do  that?"  he  asked,  "you  can't  see 
the  door,  now." 

"Let  me  help  you  in  my  own  way,"  she  whispered. 
"I — I  am  very  deeply  disturbed,  and  very,  very 
angry.  I  do  not  understand  this  new  menace.  Yezi- 
dee  that  I  am,  I  do  not  understand  what  kind  of 
danger  threatens  you  through  your  loyalty  to  me." 

She  drew  him  forward,  and  he  opened  his  mouth 
to  remonstrate,  to  laugh;  but  as  he  turned,  his  foot 
touched  the  shroud,  and  an  uncontrollable  shiver 
passed  over  him. 

They  went  close  together,  across  the  dim  room  to 
the  lounge,  and  seated  themselves.  Enough  light 
from  Madison  Avenue  made  objects  in  the  room 
barely  discernible. 

Sounds  from  the  street  below  became  rarer  as  the 
hours  wore  away.  The  iron  jar  of  trams,  the  rattle 
of  vehicles,  the  harsh  warning  of  taxicabs  broke  the 
stillness  at  longer  and  longer  intervals,  until,  save 
only  for  that  immense  and  ceaseless  vibration  of  the 
monstrous  iron  city  under  the  foggy  stars,  scarcely  a 
sound  stirred  the  silence. 


IN  BATTLE  105 

The  half-hour  had  struck  long  ago  on  the  bell  of 
the  little  clock.  Now  the  clear  bell  sotmded  three 
times. 

Cleves  stirred  on  the  lounge  beside  Tressa.  Again 
and  again  he  had  thought  that  she  was  asleep  for 
her  head  had  fallen  back  against  the  cushions,  and 
she  lay  very  still.  But  always,  when  he  leaned  nearer 
to  peer  down  at  her,  he  saw  her  eyes  open,  and  fixed 
intently  upon  the  bolted  door. 

His  pistol,  which  still  rested  on  his  knee,  was 
pointed  across  the  room,  toward  the  door.  Once 
he  reminded  her  in  a  whisper  that  she  was  unarmed 
and  that  it  might  be  as  well  for  her  to  go  and  get 
her  pistol.  But  she  murmured  that  she  was  suffi- 
ciently equipped;  and,  in  spite  of  himself,  he  shiv- 
ered as  he  glanced  down  at  her  frail  and  empty 
hands. 

It  was  some  time  between  three  and  half-past, 
he  judged,  when  a  sudden  movement  of  the  girl 
brought  him  upright  on  his  seat,  quivering  with  ex- 
citement. 

"Mr.  Cleves!" 

"Yes?" 

"The  Sorcerers!" 

"Where  ?    Outside  the  door  ?" 

"Oh,  my  God,"  she  murmured,  "they  are  after 
my  mind  again!  Their  fingers  are  groping  to  seize 
my  brain  and  get  possession  of  it!" 

"What!"  he  stammered,  horrified. 

"Here — in  the  dark,"  she  whispered — "and  I  feel 


106  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

their  fingers  caressing  me — searching — moving 
stealthily  to  surprise  and  grasp  my  thoughts.  ...  I 
know  what  they  are  doing  ...  I  am  resisting  .  .  . 
I  am  fighting — fighting!" 

She  sat  bolt  upright  with  clenched  hands  at  her 
breast,  her  face  palely  aglow  in  the  dimness  as 
though  illumined  by  some  vivid  inward  light — or, 
as  he  thought — from  the  azure  blaze  in  her  wide- 
open  eyes. 

"Is — is  this  what  you  call — what  you  believe  to  be 
magic?"  he  asked  unsteadily.  "Is  there  some  hostile 
psychic  influence  threatening  you?" 

"Yes.  I'm  resisting.  I'm  fighting — fighting. 
They  shall  not  trap  me.  They  shall  not  harm  you  1 
.  .  .  I  know  how  to  defend  myself  and  you!  .  .  . 
And  you!" 

Suddenly  she  flung  her  left  arm  around  his  neck 
and  the  delicate  clenched  hand  brushed  his  cheek. 

"They  shall  not  have  you,"  she  breathed.  "I  am 
fighting.  I  am  holding  my  own.  There  are  eight 
of  them — eight  Assassins!  My  mind  is  in  battle 
with  theirs — fiercely  in  battle.  ...  I  hold  my  own ! 
I  am  armed  and  waiting!" 

With  a  convulsive  movement  she  drew  his  head 
closer  to  her  shoulder.  "Eight  of  them !"  she  whis- 
pered,— "trying  to  entrap  and  seize  my  brain.  But 
my  thoughts  are  free  I  My  mind  is  defending  you 
— you,  here  in  my  arms!" 

After  a  breathless  silence:  "Look  out!"  she 
whispered  with  terrible  energy;  "they  are  after  your 


IN  BATTLE  107 

mind  at  last.  Fix  your  thoughts  on  me !  Keep  your 
mind  clear  of  their  net!  Don't  let  their  ghostly  fin- 
gers touch  it.  Look  at  me  I"  She  drew  him  closer. 
"Look  at  me!  Believe  in  me!  I  can  resist.  I  can 
defend  you.  Does  your  head  feel  confused?" 

"Yes— numb." 

"Don't  sleep!  Don't  close  your  eyes!  Keep  them 
open  and  look  at  me!" 

"I  can  scarcely  see  you " 

"You  must  see  me!" 

"My  eyes  are  heavy,"  he  said  drowsily.  "I  can't 
see  you,  Tressa " 

"Wake!  Look  at  me!  Keep  your  mind  clear. 
Oh,  I  beg  you — I  beg  you !  They're  after  our  minds 
and  souls,  I  tell  you !  Oh,  believe  in  me,"  she  be- 
seeched  him  in  an  agonised  whisper — "Can't  you 
believe  in  me  for  a  moment, — as  if  you  loved  me!" 

His  heavy  lids  lifted  and  he  tried  to  look  at  her. 

"Can  you  see  me?    Can  you?" 

He  muttered  something  in  a  confused  voice. 

"Victor!" 

At  the  sound  of  his  own  name,  he  opened  his  eyes 
again  and  tried  to  straighten  up,  but  his  pistol  fell 
to  the  carpet. 

"Victor!"  she  gasped,  "clear  your  mind  in  the 
name  of  God!" 

"I  can  not " 

"I  tell  you  hell  is  opening  beyond  that  door! — out- 
side your  bolted  door,  there  I  Can't  you  believe  me ! 
Can't  you  hear  me !  Oh,  what  will  hold  you  if  the 


108  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

love  of  God  can  not!"  she  burst  out.  "I'd  crucify 
myself  for  you  if  you'd  look  at  me — if  you'd  only 
fight  hard  enough  to  believe  in  me — as  though  you 
loved  me  I" 

His  eyes  unclosed  but  he  sank  back  against  her 
Moulder. 

"Victor  I"  she  cried  in  a  terrible  voice. 

There  was  no  answer. 

"If  the  love  of  God  could  only  hold  you  for  a 
moment  more!" — she  stammered  with  her  mouth 
against  his  ear,  "just  for  a  moment,  Victor!  Can't 
you  hear  me?" 

"Yes — very  far  away." 

"Fight  for  me !  Try  to  care  for  me !  Don't  let 
Sanang  have  me !" 

He  shuddered  in  her  arms,  reached  out  and  rest- 
ing heavily  on  her  shoulder,  staggered  to  his  feet  and 
stood  swaying  like  a  drunken  man. 

"No,  by  God,"  he  said  thickly,  "Sanang  shall  not 
touch  you." 

The  girl  was  on  her  feet  now,  holding  him  upright 
with  an  arm  around  his  shoulders. 

"They  can't — can't  harm  us  together,"  she  stam- 
mered. "Hark!  Listen!  Can  you  hear?  Oh,  can 
you  hear?" 

"Give  me  my  pistol,"  he  tried  to  say,  but  his  tongue 
seemed  twisted.  "No — by  God — Sanang  shall  not 
touch  you." 

She  stooped  lithely  and  recovered  the  weapon. 
"Hush,"  she  said  close  to  his  burning  face.  "Lis- 


IN  BATTLE  109 

ten.  Our  minds  are  safe !  I  can  hear  somebody's 
soul  bidding  its  body  farewell!" 

White-lipped  she  burst  out  laughing,  kicked  the 
shroud  out  of  the  way,  thrust  the  pistol  into  his  right 
hand,  went  forward,  forcing  him  along  beside  her, 
and  drew  the  bolts  from  the  door. 

Suddenly  he  spoke  distinctly: 

"Is  there  anything  outside  that  door  on  the  land- 
ing?" 

"Yes  ...  I  don't  know  what.  Are  you  ready?" 
She  laid  her  hand  on  lock  and  knob. 

He  nodded.  At  the  same  instant  she  jerked  open 
the  door;  and  a  hunchback  who  had  been  picking 
at  the  lock  fell  headlong  into  the  room,  his  pistol 
exploding  on  the  carpet  in  a  streak  of  fire. 

It  was  a  horrible  struggle  to  secure  the  powerful 
misshapen  creature,  for  he  clawed  and  squealed  and 
bounced  about  on  the  floor,  striking  blindly  with  ape- 
like arms.  But  at  last  Cleves  held  him  down,  throt- 
tled and  twitching,  and  Tressa  ripped  strips  from  the 
shroud  to  truss  up  the  writhing  thing. 

Then  Cleves  switched  on  the  light. 

"Why — why — you  rat!"  he  exclaimed  in  hysteri- 
cal relief  at  seeing  a  living  man  whom  he  recognised 
there  at  his  feet.  "What  are  you  doing  here?" 

The  hunchback's  red  eyes  blazed  up  at  him  from 
the  floor. 

"Who — who  is  he?"  faltered  the  girl. 

"He's  a  German  tailor  named  Albert  Feke — one 
of  the  Chicago  Bolsheviki — the  most  dangerous  sort 
we  harbour — one  of  their  vile  leaders  who  preaches 


110  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

that  might  is  right  and  tells  his  disciples  to  go  ahead 
and  take  what  they  want." 

He  looked  down  at  the  malignant  cripple. 

"You're  wanted  for  the  I.  W.  W.  bomb  murder, 
Albert.  Did  you  know  it?" 

The  hunchback  licked  his  bloody  lips.  Then  he 
kicked  himself  to  a  sitting  position,  squatted  there 
like  a  toad  and  looked  steadily  at  Tressa  Nome  out 
of  small  red-rimmed  eyes.  Blood  dripped  on  his 
beard;  his  huge  hairy  fists,  tied  and  crossed  behind 
his  back,  made  odd,  spasmodic  movements. 

Cleves  went  to  the  telephone.  Presently  Tressa 
heard  his  voice,  calm  and  distinct  as  usual: 

"We've  caught  Albert  Feke.  He's  here  at  my 
rooms.  I'd  like  to  have  you  come  over,  Recklow. 
.  .  .  Oh,  yes,  he  kicked  and  scuffled  and  scratched 
like  a  cat.  .  .  .  What?  ...  No,  I  hadn't  heard 
that  he'd  been  in  China.  .  .  .  Who?  .  .  .  Albert 
Feke?  You  say  he  was  one  of  the  Germans  who 
escaped  from  Shantung  four  years  ago?  .  .  .  You 
think  he's  a  Yezidee !  You  mean  one  of  the  Eight 
Assassins?" 

The  hunchback,  staring  at  Tressa  out  of  red- 
rimmed  eyes,  suddenly  snarled  and  lurched  his  mis- 
shapen body  at  her. 

"Teufelstuck!"  he  screamed,  "ain't  I  tell  effery- 
body  in  Yian  already  it  iss  safer  if  we  cut  your 
throat !  Devil-slut  of  Erlik — snow-leopardess ! — cat 
of  the  Yezidees  who  has  made  of  Sanang  a  fool! — 
it  iss  I  who  haf  said  always,  always,  that  you  know 


IN  BATTLE  111 

too  damn  much!  .  .  .  Kai!  ...  I  hear  my  soul 
bidding  me  farewell.  Gif  me  my  shroud!" 

Cleves  came  back  from  the  telephone.  With  the 
toe  of  his  left  foot  he  lifted  the  shroud  and  kicked  it 
across  the  hunchback's  knees. 

"So  you  were  one  of  the  huns  who  instigated  the 
massacre  in  Yian,"  he  said,  curiously.  At  that  Tressa 
turned  very  white  and  a  cry  escaped  her. 

But  the  hunchback's  features  were  all  twisted  into 
ferocious  laughter,  and  he  beat  on  the  carpet  with 
the  heels  of  his  great  splay  feet. 

"Ja!  Ja!"  he  shrieked,  "in  Yian  it  vas  a  goot 
hunting!  English  and  Yankee  men  und  vimmens  ve 
haff  dropped  into  dose  deep  wells  down.  Py  Gott 
in  Himmel,  how  dey  schream  up  out  of  dose  deep 
wells  in  Yian!"  He  began  to  cackle  and  shriek  in 
his  frenzy.  "Ach  Gott  ja  I  It  iss  not  you  either — 
you  there,  Keuke  Mongol,  who  shall  escape  from  the 
Sheiks-el-Djebel!  It  iss  dot  Old  Man  of  the  Moun- 
tain who  shall  tell  your  soul  it  iss  time  to  say  fare- 
well! Ja!  Ja!  Ach  Gott! — it  iss  my  only  regret 
that  I  shall  not  see  the  world  when  it  is  all  afire! 
Ja !  Ja ! — all  on  fire  like  hell !  But  you  shall  see  it, 
slut-leopard  of  the  snows !  You  shall  see  it  und  you 
shall  burn !  Kai !  Kai !  My  soul  it  iss  bidding  my 
body  farewell.  Kai !  May  Erlik  curse  you,  Keuke 
Mongol — Heavenly  Azure — Sorceress  of  the  tem- 
ple !— " 

He  spat  at  her  and  rolled  over  in  his  shroud. 

The  girl  looking  down  on  him  closed  her  eyes  for 
a  moment,  and  Cleves  saw  her  bloodless  lips  move, 


112  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

and  bent  nearer,  listening.    And  he  heard  her  whis- 
pering to  herself: 

"Preserve  us  all,  O  God,  from  the  wrath  of  Satan 
who  was  stoned." 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   BRIDAL 

OVER  the  United  States  stretched  an  unseen 
network  of  secret  intrigue  woven  tirelessly 
night  and  day  by  the  busy  enemies  of  civilisa- 
tion— Reds,  parlour-socialists,  enemy-aliens,  terror- 
ists, Bolsheviki,  pseudo-intellectuals,  I.  W.  W.'s,  so- 
cial faddists,  and  amateur  meddlers  of  every  nuance 
— all  the  various  varieties  of  the  vicious,  witless,  and 
mentally  unhinged — brought  together  through  the 
"cohesive  power  of  plunder"  and  the  degeneration 
of  cranial  tissue. 

All  over  the  United  States  the  various  depart- 
mental divisions  of  the  Secret  Service  were  busily 
following  up  these  threads  of  intrigue  leading  every- 
where through  the  obscurity  of  this  vast  and  secret 
maze. 

To  meet  the  constantly  increasing  danger  of  physi- 
cal violence  and  to  uncover  secret  plots  threatening 
sabotage  and  revolution,  there  were  capable  agents 
in  *• .very  branch  of  the  Secret  Service,  both  Federal 
ar  1  State. 

But  in  the  first  months  of  1919  something  more 
terrifying  than  physical  violence   suddenly  threat- 
ened civilised  America, — a  wild,  grotesque,  incred- 
ible threat  of  a  war  on  human  minds! 
"3 


114  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

And,  little  by  little,  the  United  States  Govern- 
ment became  convinced  that  this  ghastly  menace  was 
no  dream  of  a  disordered  imagination,  but  that  it 
was  real:  that  among  the  enemies  of  civilisation 
there  actually  existed  a  few  powerful  but  perverted 
minds  capable  of  wielding  psychic  forces  as  terrific 
weapons:  that  by  the  sinister  use  of  psychic  knowl- 
edge controlling  these  mighty  forces  the  very  minds 
of  mankind  could  be  stealthily  approached,  seized, 
controlled  and  turned  upon  civilisation  to  aid  in  the 
world's  destruction. 

In  terrible  alarm  the  Government  turned  to  Eng- 
land for  advice.  But  Sir  William  Crookes  was 
dead. 

However,  in  England,  Sir  Conan  Doyle  immedi- 
ately took  up  the  matter,  and  in  America  Professor 
Hyslop  was  called  into  consultation. 

And  then,  when  the  Government  was  beginning 
to  realise  what  this  awful  menace  meant,  and  that 
there  were  actually  in  the  United  States  possibly  half 
a  dozen  people  who  already  had  begun  to  carry  on 
a  diabolical  warfare  by  means  of  psychic  power,  for 
the  purpose  of  enslaving  and  controlling  the  very 
minds  of  men, — then,  in  the  terrible  moment  of  dis- 
covery, a  young  girl  landed  in  America  after  four- 
teen years'  absence  in  Asia. 

And  this  was  the  amazing  girl  that  Victor  Cleves 
had  just  married,  at  Recklow's  suggestion,  and  in 
the  line  of  professional  duty, — and  moral  duty,  per- 
haps. 

It  had  been  a  brief,  matter-of-fact  ceremony.  John 


THE  BRIDAL  115 

Recklow,  of  the  Secret  Service,  was  there;  also  Ben- 
ton  and  Selden  of  the  same  service. 

The  bride's  lips  were  unresponsive;  cold  as  the 
touch  of  the  groom's  unsteady  hand. 

She  looked  down  at  her  new  ring  in  a  blank  sort 
of  way,  gave  her  hand  listlessly  to  Recklow  and  to 
the  others  in  turn,  whispered  a  timidly  comprehen- 
sive "Thank  you,"  and  walked  away  beside  Cleves  as 
though  dazed. 

There  was  a  taxicab  waiting.  Tressa  entered. 
Recklow  came  out  and  spoke  to  Cleves  in  a  low 
voice. 

"Don't  worry,"  replied  Cleves  dryly.  "That's 
why  I  married  her." 

"Where  are  you  going  now?"  inquired  Recklow. 

"Back  to  my  apartment." 

"Why  don't  you  take  her  away  for  a  month?" 

Cleves  flushed  with  annoyance:  "This  is  no  oc- 
casion for  a  wedding  trip.  You  understand  that, 
Recklow." 

"I  understand.  But  we  ought  to  give  her  a  breath- 
ing space.  She's  had  nothing  but  trouble.  She's 
worn  out." 

Cleves  hesitated:  "I  can  guard  her  better  in  the 
apartment.  Isn't  it  safer  to  go  back  there,  where 
your  people  are  always  watching  the  street  and  house 
day  and  night?" 

"In  a  way  it  might  be  safer,  perhaps.  But  that 
girl  is  nearly  exhausted.  And  her  value  to  us  is  un- 
limited. She  may  be  the  vital  factor  in  this  fight 


116  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

with  anarchy.  Her  weapon  is.  her  mind.  And  it's 
got  to  have  a  chance  to  rest." 

Cleves,  with  one  hand  on  the  cab  door,  looked 
around  impatiently. 

"Do  you,  also,  conclude  that  the  psychic  factor  is 
actually  part  of  this  damned  problem  of  Bolshe- 
vism?" 

Recklow's  ccrol  eyes  measured  him:     "Do  you?" 

"My  God,  Recklow,  I  don't  know — after  what  my 
own  eyes  have  seen." 

"I  don't  know  either,"  said  the  other  calmly,  "but 
I  am  taking  no  chances.  I  don't  attempt  to  explain 
certain  things  that  have  occurred.  But  if  it  be  true 
that  a  misuse  of  psychic  ability  by  foreigners — Asi- 
atics— among  the  anarchists  is  responsible  for  some 
of  the  devilish  things  being  done  in  the  United  States, 
then  your  wife's  unparalleled  knowledge  of  the  oc- 
cult East  is  absolutely  vital  to  us.  And  so  I  say,  bet- 
ter take  her  away  somewhere  and  give  her  mind  a 
chance  to  recover  from  the  incessant  strain  of  these 
tragic  years." 

The  two  men  stood  silent  for  a  moment,  then 
Recklow  went  to  the  window  of  the  taxicab. 

"I  have  been  suggesting  a  trip  into  the  country, 
Mrs.  Cleves,"  he  said  pleasantly,  " — into  the  real 
country,  somewhere, — a  month's  quiet  in  the  woods, 
perhaps.  Wouldn't  it  appeal  to  you?" 

Cleves  turned  to  catch  her  low-voiced  answer. 

"I  should  like  it  very  much,"  she  said  in  that  odd, 
hushed  way  of  speaking,  which  seemed  to  have  al- 


THE  BRIDAL  117 

tered  her  own  voice  and  manner  since  the  ceremony 
a  little  while  before. 

Driving  back  to  his  apartment  beside  her,  he 
strove  to  realise  that  this  girl  was  his  wife. 

One  of  her  gloves  lay  across  her  lap,  and  on  it 
rested  a  slender  hand.  And  on  one  finger  was  his 
ring. 

But  Victor  Cleves  could  not  bring  himself  to  be- 
lieve that  this  brand-new  ring  really  signified  any- 
thing to  him, — that  it  had  altered  his  own  life  in 
any  way.  But  always  his  incredulous  eyes  returned 
to  that  slim  finger  resting  there,  unstirring,  banded 
with  a  narrow  circlet  of  virgin  gold. 

In  the  apartment  they  did  not  seem  to  know  ex- 
actly what  to  do  or  say — what  attitude  to  assume — 
what  effort  to  make. 

Tressa  went  into  her  own  room,  removed  her  hat 
and  furs,  and  came  slowly  back  into  the  living- 
room,  where  Cleves  still  stood  gazing  absently  out 
of  the  window. 

A  fine  rain  was  falling. 

They  seated  themselves.  There  seemed  nothing 
better  to  do. 

He  said,  politely:  "In  regard  to  going  away  for 
a  rest,  you  wouldn't  care  for  the  North  Woods,  I 
fancy,  unless  you  like  winter  sports.  Do  you?" 

"I  like  sunlight  and  green  leaves,"  she  said  in  that 
odd,  still  voice. 

"Then,  if  it  would  please  you  to  go  South  for  a 
few  weeks'  rest " 

"Would  it  inconvenience  you?" 


118  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

Her  manner  touched  him. 

"My  dear  Miss  Nome,"  he  began,  and  checked 
himself,  flushing  painfully.  The  girl  blushed,  too; 
then,  when  he  began  to  laugh,  her  lovely,  bashful 
smile  glimmered  for  the  first  time. 

"I  really  can't  bring  myself  to  realise  that  you 
and  I  are  married,"  he  explained,  still  embarrassed, 
though  smiling. 

Her  smile  became  an  endeavour.  "I  can't  believe 
it  either,  Mr.  Cleves,"  she  said.  "I  feel  rather 
stunned." 

"Hadn't  you  better  call  me  Victor — under  the  cir- 
cumstances?" he  suggested,  striving  to  speak  lightly. 

"Yes.  ...  It  will  not  be  very  easy  to  say  it — not 
for  some  time,  I  think." 

"Tressa?" 

"Yes." 

"Yes— what?" 

"Yes— Victor." 

"That's  the  idea,"  he  insisted  with  forced  gaiety. 

"The  thing  to  do  is  to  face  this  rather  funny  situ- 
ation and  take  it  amiably  and  with  good  humour. 
You'll  have  your  freedom  some  day,  you  know." 

"Yes— I— know." 

"And  we're  already  on  very  good  terms.  We  find 
each  other  interesting,  don't  we?" 

"Yes." 

"It  even  seems  to  me,"  he  ventured,  "it  certainly 
seems  to  me,  at  times,  as  though  we  are  approach- 
ing a  common  basis  of — of  mutual — er — esteem." 

"Yes.     I — I  do  esteem  you,  Mr.  Cleves." 


THE  BRIDAL  119 

"In  point  of  fact,"  he  concluded,  surprised,  "we 
are  friends — in  a  way.  Wouldn't  you  call  it — 
friendship?" 

"I  think  so,  I  think  I'd  call  it  that,"  she  ad- 
mitted. 

"I  think  so,  too.  And  that  is  lucky  for  us.  That 
makes  this  crazy  situation  more  comfortable — less — 
well,  perhaps  less  ponderous." 

The  girl  assented  with  a  vague  smile,  but  her  eyes 
remained  lowered. 

"You  see,"  he  went  on,  "when  two  people  are  as 
oddly  situated  as  we  are,  they're  likely  to  be  afraid 
of  being  in  each  other's  way.  But  they  ought  to 
get  on  without  being  unhappy  as  long  as  they  are 
quite  confident  of  each  other's  friendly  considera- 
tion. Don't  you  think  so,  Tressa?" 

Her  lowered  eyes  rested  steadily  on  her  ring-fin-, 
ger.  "Yes,"  she  said.  "And  I  am  not — unhappy, 
or — afraid." 

She  lifted  her  blue  gaze  to  his;  and,  somehow,  he 
thought  of  her  barbaric  name,  Keuke, — and  its  Yezi- 
dee  significance,  "heavenly — azure." 

"Are  we  really  going  away  together?"  she  asked 
timidly. 

"Certainly,  if  you  wish." 

"If  you,  also,  wish  it,  Mr.  Cleves." 

He  found  himself  saying  with  emphasis  that  he 
always  wished  to  do  what  she  desired.  And  he 
added,  more  gently: 

"You  are  tired,  Tressa — tired  and  lonely  and  un- 
happy." 


120  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"Tired,  but  not  the— others." 

"Not  unhappy?" 

"No." 

"Aren't  you  lonely?" 

"Not  with  you." 

The  answer  came  so  naturally,  so  calmly,  that 
the  slight  sensation  of  pleasure  it  gave  him  arrived 
only  as  an  agreeable  afterglow. 

"We'll  go  South,"  he  said.  .  .  .  "I'm  so  glad  that 
you  don't  feel  lonely  with  me." 

"Will  it  be  warmer  where  we  are  going,  Mr. 
Cleves?" 

"Yes — you  poor  child!  You  need  warmth  and 
sunshine,  don't  you?  Was  it  warm  in  Yian,  where 
you  lived  so  many  years?" 

"It  was  always  June  in  Yian,"  she  said  under  her 
breath. 

She  seemed  to  have  fallen  into  a  revery;  he 
watched  the  sensitive  face.  Almost  imperceptibly 
it  changed;  became  altered,  younger,  strangely  lovely. 

Presently  she  looked  up — and  it  seemed  to  him 
that  it  was  not  Tressa  Nome  at  all  he  saw,  but  little 
Keuke — Heavenly  Azure — of  the  Yezidee  temple, 
as  she  dropped  one  slim  knee  over  the  other  and 
crossed  her  hands  above  it. 

"It  was  very  beautiful  in  Yian,"  she  said,  " — Yian 
of  the  thousand  bridges  and  scented  gardens  so  full 
of  lilies.  Even  after  they  took  me  to  the  temple, 
and  I  thought  the  world  was  ending,  God's  skies  still 
remained  soft  overhead,  and  His  weather  fair  and 
golden.  .  .  .  And  when,  in  the  month  of  the  Snake, 


THE  BRIDAL  121 

the  Eight  Sheiks-el-Djebel  came  to  the  temple  to 
spread  their  shrouds  on  the  rose-marble  steps,  then, 
after  they  had  departed,  chanting  the  Prayers  for 
the  Dead,  each  to  his  Tower  of  Silence,  we  temple 
girls  were  free  for  a  week.  .  .  .  And  once  I  went 
with  Tchagane — a  girl — and  with  Yulun — another 
girl — and  we  took  our  keutch,  which  is  our  luggage, 
and  we  went  to  the  yai'lak,  or  summer  pavilion  on  the 
Lake  of  the  Ghost.  Oh,  wonderful, — a  silvery  world 
of  pale-gilt  suns  and  of  moons  so  frail  that  the 
cloud-fleece  at  high-noon  has  more  substance!" 

Her  voice  died  out;  she  sat  gazing  down  at  her 
spread  fingers,  on  one  of  which  gleamed  her  wed- 
ding-ring. 

After  a  little,  she  went  on  dreamily: 

"On  that  week,  each  three  months,  we  were  free. 
.  .  .  If  a  young  man  should  please  us.  .  .  ." 

"Free?"  he  repeated. 

"To  love,"  she  explained  coolly. 

"Oh."  He  nodded,  but  his  face  became  rather 
grim. 

"There  came  to  me  at  the  yai'lak,"  she  went  on 
carelessly,  "one  Khassar  NoTane — NoTane  means 
Prince — all  in  a  surcoat  of  gold  tissue  with  green 
vines  embroidered,  and  wearing  a  green  cap  trimmed 
with  dormouse,  and  green  boots  inlaid  with  stiff 
gold.  .  .  . 

"He  was  so  young  ...  a  boy.  I  laughed.  I 
said:  'Is  this  a  Yagaoul?  An  Urdu-envoy  of  Prince 
Erlik?' — mocking  him  as  young  and  thoughtless  girls 


182  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

mock — not  in  unfriendly  manner — though  I  would 
not  endure  the  touch  of  any  man  at  all. 

"And  when  I  laughed  at  him,  this  Eighur  boy  flew 
into  such  a  rage !  Kai !  I  was  amazed. 

"'Sou-sou!  Squirrel!'  he  cried  angrily  at  me. 
'Learn  the  Yacaz,  little  chatterer !  Little  mocker  of 
men,  it  is  ten  blows  with  a  stick  you  require,  not 
kisses!' 

"At  that  I  whistled  my  two  dogs,  Bars  and  Alaga, 
for  I  did  not  think  what  he  said  was  funny. 

"I  said  to  him:  'You  had  better  go  home,  Khas- 
sar  Noi'ane,  for  if  no  man  has  ever  pleased  me  where 
I  am  at  liberty  to  please  myself,  here  on  the  Lake 
of  the  Ghost,  then  be  very  certain  that  no  boy  can 
please  Keuke-Mongol  here  or  anywhere!' 

"And  at  that — kai !  What  did  he  say — that  mon- 
key?" She  looked  at  her  husband,  her  splendid 
eyes  ablaze  with  wrathful  laughter,  and  made  a  ges- 
ture full  of  angry  grace : 

"  'Squirrel !'  he  cries — 'little  malignant  sorceress 
of  Yian !  May  everything  high  about  you  become  a 
sandstorm,  and  everything  long  a  serpent,  and  every- 
thing broad  a  toad,  and  everything ' 

"But  I  had  had  enough,  Victor,"  she  added  ex- 
citedly, "and  I  made  a  wild  bee  bite  him  on  the 
lip!  What  do  you  think  of  such  a  courtship?"  she 
cried,  laughing.  But  Cleves's  face  was  a  study  in 
emotions. 

And  then,  suddenly,  the  laughing  mask  seemed  to 
slip  from  the  bewitching  features  of  Keuke  Mon- 
gol; and  there  was  Tressa  Nome — Tressa  Cleves 


THE  BRIDAL  123 

— disconcerted,  paling  a  little  as  the  memory  of  her 
impulsive  confidence  in  this  man  beside  her  began  to 
dawn  on  her  more  clearly. 

"I— I'm  sorry "  she  faltered.  .  .  .  "You'll 

think  me  silly — think  evil  of  me,  perhaps " 

She  looked  into  his  troubled  eyes,  then  suddenly 
she  took  her  face  into  both  hands  and  covered  it, 
sitting  very  still. 

"We'll  go  South  together,"  he  said  in.  an  uncer- 
tain voice.  ...  "I  hope  you  will  try  to  think  of  me 
as  a  friend.  .  .  .  I'm  just  troubled  because  I  am  so 
anxious  to  understand  you.  That  is  all.  .  .  .  I'm — 
I'm  troubled,  too,  because  I  am  anxious  that  you 
should  think  well  of  me.  Will  you  try,  always?" 

She  nodded. 

"I  want  to  be  your  friend,  always,"  he  said. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Cleves." 

It  was  a  strange  spot  he  chose  for  Tressa — 
strange  but  lovely  in  its  own  unreal  and  rather  spec- 
tral fashion — where  a  pearl-tinted  mist  veiled  the 
St.  Johns,  and  made  exquisite  ghosts  of  the  pal- 
mettos, and  softened  the  sun  to  a  silver-gilt  wafer 
pasted  on  a  nacre  sky. 

It  was  a  still  country,  where  giant  water-oaks  tow- 
ered, fantastic  under  their  misty  camouflage  of  moss, 
and  swarming  with  small  birds. 

Among  the  trees  the  wood-ibis  stole ;  without  on 
the  placid  glass  of  the  stream  the  eared  grebe  floated. 
There  was  no  wind,  no  stirring  of  leaves,  no  sound 
save  the  muffled  splash  of  silver  mullet,  the  breath- 


124  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

less  whirr  of  a  humming-bird,  or  the  hushed  rustle  of 
lizards  in  the  woods. 

For  Tressa  this  was  the  blessed  balm  that  heals, 
— the  balm  of  silence.  And,  for  the  first  week,  she 
slept  most  of  the  time,  or  lay  in  her  hammock  watch- 
ing the  swarms  of  small  birds  creeping  and  flitting 
amid  the  moss-draped  labyrinths  of  the  live-oaks  at 
her  very  door. 

It  had  been  a  little  club  house  before  the  war,  this 
bungalow  on  the  St.  Johns  at  Orchid  Hammock.  Its 
members  had  been  few  and  wealthy;  but  some  were 
dead  in  France  and  Flanders,  and  some  still  re- 
mained overseas,  and  others  continued  busy  in  the 
North. 

And  these  two  young  people  were  quite  alone 
there,  save  for  a  negro  cook  and  a  maid,  and  an 
aged  negro  kennel-master  who  wore  a  scarlet  waist- 
coat and  cords  too  large  for  his  shrunken  body, 
and  who  pottered,  pottered  through  the  fields  all 
day,  with  his  whip  clasped  behind  his  bent  back  and 
the  pointers  ranging  wide,  or  plodding  in  at  heel  with 
red  tongues  lolling. 

Twice  Cleves  went  a  little  way  for  quail,  using 
Benton's  dogs ;  but  even  here  in  this  remote  spot  he 
dared  not  move  out  of  view  of  the  little  house  where 
Tressa  lay  asleep. 

So  he  picked  up  only  a  few  brace  of  birds,  and  con- 
fined his  sport  to  impaling  too-familiar  scorpions 
on  the  blade  of  his  knife. 

And  all  the  while  life  remained  unreal  for  him; 
his  marriage  seemed  utterly  unbelievable;  he  could 


THE  BRIDAL  125 

not  realise  it,  could  not  reconcile  himself  to  condi- 
tions so  incomprehensible. 

Also,  ever  latent  in  his  mind,  was  knowledge  that 
made  him  restless — the  knowledge  that  the  young 
girl  he  had  married  had  been  in  love  with  another 
man:  Sanang. 

And  there  were  other  thoughts — thoughts  which 
had  scarcely  even  taken  the  shape  of  questions. 

One  morning  he  came  from  his  room  and  found 
Tressa  on  the  veranda  in  her  hammock.  She  had 
her  moon-lute  in  her  lap. 

"You  feel  better — much  better!"  he  said  gaily, 
saluting  her  extended  hand. 

"Yes.  Isn't  this  heavenly?  I  begin  to  believe  it 
is  life  to  me,  this  pearl-tinted  world,  and  the  scent 
of  orange  bloom  and  the  stillness  of  paradise  itself." 

She  gazed  out  over  the  ghostly  river.  Not  a 
wing  stirred  its  glassy  surface. 

"Is  this  dull  for  you?"  she  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

"Not  if  you  are  contented,  Tressa." 

"You're  so  nice  about  it.  Don't  you  think  you 
might  venture  a  day's  real  shooting?" 

"No,  I  think  I  won't,"  he  replied. 

"On  my  account?" 

"Well— yes." 

"I'm  so  sorry." 

"It's  all  right  as  long  as  you're  getting  rested. 
What  is  that  instrument?" 

"My  moon-lute." 

"Oh,  is  that  what  it's  called?" 


126  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

She  nodded,  touched  the  strings.  He  watched  her 
exquisite  hands. 

"Shall  I?"  she  inquired  a  little  shyly. 

"Go  ahead.     I'd  like  to  hear  it!" 

"I  haven't  touched  it  in  months — not  since  I  was 
on  the  steamer."  She  sat  up  in  her  hammock  and 
began  to  swing  there;  and  played  and  sang  while 
swinging  in  the  flecked  shadow  of  the  orange  bloom: 

<fL,ittle  Isle  of  Cispangou, 
Isle  of  iris,  isle  of  cherry, 
Tell  your  tiny  maidens  merry 
Clouds  are  looming  over  you! 

La-e-la! 

La-e-la! 

All  your  ocean's  but  a  ferry; 
Ships  are  bringing  death  to  you! 

La-e-lou! 

La-e-lou! 

"Little  Isle  of  Cispangou, 
Half  a  thousand  ships  are  sailing; 
Captain  Death  commands  each  crew; 
Lo!  the  ruddy  moon  is  paling! 

La-e-la^! 

La-e-la\f 

Clouds  the  dying  moon  are  veiling, 
Every  cloud  a  shroud  for  you! 

La-e-lou! 

La-e-lou!" 

"Cispangou,"  she  explained,  "is  the  very,  very  an- 
cient name,  among  the  Mongols,  for  Japan." 

"It's  not  exactly  a  gay  song,"  he  said.  "What's 
it  about?" 


THE  BRIDAL  127 

"Oh,  it's  a  very  ancient  song  about  the  Mongol 
invasion  of  Japan.  I  know  scores  and  scores  of  such 
songs." 

She  sang  some  other  songs.  Afterward  she  de- 
scended from  the  hammock  and  came  and  sat  down 
beside  him  on  the  veranda  steps. 

"I  wish  I  could  amuse  you,"  she  said  wistfully. 

"Why  do  you  think  I'm  bored,  Tressa?  I'm  not 
at  all." 

But  she  only  sighed,  lightly,  and  gathered  her 
knees  in  both  arms. 

"I  don't  know  how  young  men  in  the  Western 
world  are  entertained,"  she  remarked  presently. 

"You  don't  have  to  entertain  me,"  he  said,  smil- 
ing. 

"I  should  be  happy  to,  if  I  knew  how." 

"How  are  young  men  entertained  in  the  Orient?" 

"Oh,  they  like  songs  and  stories.  But  I  don't 
think  you  do." 

He  laughed  in  spite  of  himself. 

"Do  you  really  wish  to  entertain  me?" 

"I  do,"  she  said  seriously. 

"Then  please  perform  some  of  those  tricks  of 
magic  which  you  can  do  so  amazingly  well." 

Her  dawning  smile  faded  a  trifle.  "I  don't — I 
haven't "  She  hesitated. 

"You  haven't  your  professional  paraphernalia 
with  you,"  he  suggested. 

"Oh— as  for  that " 

"Don't  you  need  it?" 


128  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"For  some  things — some  kinds  of  things.  ...  I 
could  do — other  things " 

He  waited.  She  seemed  disconcerted.  "Don't  do 
anything  you  don't  wish  to  do,  Tressa,"  he  said. 

"I  was  only — only  afraid — that  if  I  should  do 
some  little  things  to  amuse  you,  I  might  stir — stir 
up — interfere — encounter  some  sinister  current — 
and  betray  myself — betray  my  whereabouts " 

"Well,  for  heaven's  sake  don't  venture  then !"  he 
said  with  emphasis.  "Don't  do  anything  to  stir  up 
any  other  wireless — any  Yezidee " 

"I  am  wondering,"  she  reflected,  "just  what  I  dare 
venture  to  do  to  amuse  you." 

"Don't  bother  about  me.  I  wouldn't  have  you 
try  any  psychic  stunt  down  here,  and  run  the  chance 
of  stirring  up  some  Asiatic  devil  somewhere !" 

She  nodded  absently,  occupied  with  her  own 
thoughts,  sitting  there,  chin  on  hand,  her  musing 
eyes  intensely  blue. 

"I  think  I  can  amuse  you,"  she  concluded,  "with- 
out bringing  any  harm  to  myself." 

"Don't  try  it,  Tressa! " 

"I'll  be  very  careful.  Now,  sit  quite  still — closer 
to  me,  please." 

He  edged  closer;  and  became  conscious  of  an  in- 
definable freshness  in  the  air  that  enveloped  him, 
like  the  scent  of  something  young  and  growing.  But 
it  was  no  magic  odour, — merely  the  virginal  scent  of 
her  hair  and  skin  that  even  clung  to  her  summer 
gown. 


THE  BRIDAL  1<1 

He  heard  her  singing  under  her  breath  to  her- 
self: 

"La-e-laf 
"La-e-la!" 

and  murmuring  caressingly  in  an  unknown  tongue. 

Then,  suddenly  in  the  pale  sunshine,  scores  of  lit- 
tle birds  came  hovering  around  them,  alighting  all 
over  them.  And  he  saw  them  swarming  out  of  the 
mossy  festoons  of  the  water-oaks — scores  and  scores 
of  tiny  birds — Parula  warblers,  mostly — all  flitting 
fearlessly  down  to  alight  upon  his  shoulders  and 
knees,  all  keeping  up  their  sweet,  dreamy  little  twit- 
tering sound. 

"This  is  wonderful,"  he  whispered. 

The  girl  laughed,  took  several  birds  on  her  fore- 
finger. 

"This  is  nothing,"  she  said.  "If  I  only  dared — 

wait  a  moment ! "  And,  to  the  Parula  warblers : 

"Go  home,  little  friends  of  God!" 

The  air  was  filled  with  the  musical  whisper  of 
wings.  She  passed  her  right  arm  around  her  hus- 
band's neck. 

"Look  at  the  river,"  she  said. 

"Good  God!"  he  blurted  out.    And  sat  dumb. 

For,  over  the  St.  John's  misty  surface,  there  was 
the  span  of  a  bridge — a  strange,  marble  bridge 
humped  up  high  in  the  centre. 

And  over  it  were  passing  thousands  of  people — 
he  could  make  them  out  vaguely — see  them  passing 


A30  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

in  two  never-ending  streams — tinted  shapes  on  the 
marble  bridge. 

And  now,  on  the  farther  shore  of  the  river,  he 
was  aware  of  a  city — a  vast  one,  with  spectral  pa- 
goda shapes  against  the  sky 

Her  arm  tightened  around  his  neck. 

He  saw  boats  on  the  river — like  the  grotesque 
shapes  that  decorate  ancient  lacquer. 

She  rested  her  face  lightly  against  his  cheek. 

In  his  ears  was  a  far  confusion  of  voices — the  stir 
and  movement  of  multitudes — noises  on  ships,  boat- 
men's cries,  the  creak  of  oars. 

Then,  far  and  sonorous,  quavering  across  the  wa- 
ter from  the  city,  the  din  of  a  temple  gong. 

There  were  bells,  too — very  sweet  and  silvery — 
camel  bells,  bells  from  the  Buddhist  temples. 

He  strained  his  eyes,  and  thought,  amid  the  pa- 
godas, that  there  were  minarets,  also. 

Suddenly,  clear  and  ringing  came  the  distant  muez- 
zin's cry:  "There  is  no  other  god  but  God!  .  .  . 
It  is  noon.  Mussulmans,  pray  1" 

The  girl's  arm  slipped  from  his  neck  and  she  shud- 
dered and  pushed  him  from  her. 

There  was  nothing,  now,  on  the  river  or  beyond  it 
but  the  curtain  of  hanging  mist;  no  sound  except  the 
cry  of  a  gull,  sharp  and  querulous  in  the  vapours 
overhead. 

"Have — have  you  been  amused?"  she  asked. 

"What  did  you  do  to  me  I"  he  demanded  harshly. 

She  smiled  and  drew  a  light  breath  like  a  sigh. 

"God  knows  what  we  living  do  to  one  another, — 


THE  BRIDAL  131 

or  to  ourselves,"  she  said.  "I  only  tried  to  amuse 
you — after  taking  counsel  with  the  birds." 

"What  was  that  bridge  I  saw!" 

"The  Bridge  of  Ten  Thousand  Felicities." 

"And  the  city?" 

"Yian." 

"You  lived  there?" 

"Yes." 

He  moistened  his  dry  lips  and  stole  another  glance 
at  this  very  commonplace  Florida  river.  Sky  and 
water  were  blank  and  still,  and  the  ghostly  trees 
stood  tall,  reflected  palely  in  the  translucent  tide. 

"You  merely  made  me  visualise  what  you  were 
thinking  about,"  he  concluded  in  a  voice  which  still 
remained  unsteady. 

"Did  you  hear  nothing?" 

He  was  silent,  remembering  the  bells  and  the 
enormous  murmur  of  a  living  multitude. 

"And — there  were  the  birds,  too."  She  added, 
with  an  uncertain  smile:  "I  do  not  mean  to  worry 
you.  .  .  .  And  you  did  ask  me  to  amuse  you." 

"I  don't  know  how  you  did  it,"  he  said  harshly. 
"And  the  details — those  thousands  and  thousands 
of  people  on  the  bridge !  .  .  .  And  there  was  one, 
quite  near  this  end  of  the  bridge,  who  looked  back. 
.  .  .  A  young  girl  who  turned  and  laughed  at 
us " 

"That  was  Yulun." 

"Who?" 

"Yulun.     I  taught  her  English." 

"A  temple  girl?" 


132  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"Yes.     From  Black  China." 

"How  could  you  make  me  see  her!"  he  demanded. 

"Why  do  you  ask  such  things?  I  do  not  know 
how  to  tell  you  how  I  do  it." 

"It's  a  dangerous,  uncanny  knowledge!"  he 
blurted  out;  and  suddenly  checked  himself,  for  the 
girl's  face  went  white. 

"I  don't  mean  uncanny,"  he  hastened  to  add.  "Be- 
£ause  it  seems  to  me  that  what  you  did  by  juggling 
with  invisible  currents  to  which,  when  attuned,  our 
five  senses  respond,  is  on  the  same  lines  as  the  wire- 
less telegraph  and  telephone." 

She  said  nothing,  but  her  colour  slowly  returned. 

"You  mustn't  be  so  sensitive,"  he  added.  "I've 
no  doubt  that  it's  all  quite  normal — quite  explicable 
on  a  perfectly  scientific  basis.  Probably  it's  no  more 
mysterious  than  a  man  in  an  airplane  over  midocean 
conversing  with  people  ashore  on  two  continents." 

For  the  remainder  of  the  day  and  evening  Tressa 
seemed  subdued — not  restless,  not  nervous,  but  so 
quiet  that,  sometimes,  glancing  at  her  askance,  Cleves 
involuntarily  was  reminded  of  some  lithe  young  crea- 
ture of  the  wilds,  intensely  alert  and  still,  immersed 
in  fixed  and  dangerous  meditation. 

About  five  in  the  afternoon  they  took  their  golf 
sticks,  went  down  to  the  river,  and  embarked  in  the 
canoe. 

The  water  was  glassy  and  still.  There  was  not 
a  ripple  ahead,  save  when  a  sleeping  gull  awoke  and 
leisurely  steered  out  of  their  way. 


THE  BRIDAL  133 

Tressa's  arms  and  throat  were  bare  and  she  wore 
no  hat.  She  sat  forward,  wielding  the  bow  paddle 
and  singing  to  herself  in  a  low  voice. 

"You  feel  all  right,  don't  you?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  I  am  so  well,  physically,  now!  It's  really 
wonderful,  Victor — like  being  a  child  again,"  she  re- 
plied happily. 

"You're  not  much  more,"  he  muttered. 

She  heard  him :  "Not  very  much  more — in 
years,"  she  said.  .  .  .  "Does  Scripture  tell  us  how 
old  Our  Lord  was  when  He  descended  into  Hell?" 

"I  don't  know,"  he  replied,  startled. 

After  a  little  while  Tressa  tranquilly  resumed  her 
paddling  and  singing: 

" — And  eight  tall  towers 
Guard  the  route 
Of  human  life, 
Where  at  all  hours 
Death  looks  out, 
Holding  a  knife 
Rolled  in  a  shroud. 

For  every  man, 

Humble  or  proud, 

Mighty  or  bowed, 

Death  has  a  shroud; — for  every  man, — 
Even  for  Tchingniz  Khan! 

Behold  them  pass! — lancer, 

Baroulass, 

Temple  dancer 

In  tissue  gold, 

Khiounnou, 

Karlik  bold, 


134.  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

Christian,  Jew, — 
Nations  swarm  to  the  great  Urdu. 

Yagaoul,  with  your  kettledrum, 
Warn  your  Khan  that  his  hour  is  come! 

Shroud  and  knife  at  his  spurred  feet  throw, 
And  bid  him  stretch  his  neck  for  the  blow! — " 

"You  know,"  remarked  Cleves,  "that  some  of 
those  songs  you  sing  are  devilish  creepy." 

Tressa  looked  around  at  him  over  her  shoulder, 
saw  he  was  smiling,  smiled  faintly  in  return. 

They  were  off  Orchid  Cove  now.  The  hotel  and 
cottages  loomed  dimly  in  the  silver  mist.  Voices 
came  distinctly  across  the  water.  There  were  peo- 
ple on  the  golf  course  paralleling  the  river;  laughter 
sounded  from  the  clubhouse  veranda. 

They  went  ashore. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   MAN   IN  WHITE 

IT  was  at  the  sixth  hole  that  they  passed  the  man 
ahead  who  was  playing  all  alone — a  courteous 
young  fellow  in  white  flannels,  who  smiled  and 
bowed  them  "through"  in  silence. 

They  thanked  him,  drove  from  the  tee,  and  left 
the  polite  and  reticent  young  man  still  apparently 
hunting  for  a  lost  ball. 

Like  other  things  which  depended  upon  dexterity 
and  precision,  Tressa  had  taken  most  naturally  to 
golf.  Her  supple  muscles  helped. 

At  the  ninth  hole  they  looked  back  but  did  not  see 
the  young  man  in  white  flannels. 

Hammock,  set  with  pine  and  palmetto,  and  inter- 
vals of  evil-looking  swamp,  flanked  the  course.  Rank 
wire-grass,  bayberry  and  scrub  palmetto  bounded  the 
fairgreen. 

On  every  blossoming  bush  hung  butterflies — Palo- 
medes  swallowtails — drugged  with  sparkle-berry 
honey,  their  gold  and  black  velvet  wings  conspicuous 
in  the  sunny  mist. 

"Like  the  ceremonial  vestments  of  a  Yezidee  exe- 
cutioner," murmured  the  girl.  "The  Tchortchas 
135 


136  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

wear  red  when  they  robe  to  do  a  man  to  death. " 

"I  wish  you  could  forget  those  things,"  said 
Cleves. 

"I  am  trying.  ...  I  wonder  where  that  young 
man  in  white  went." 

Cleves  searched  the  links.  "I  don't  see  him.  Per- 
haps he  had  to  go  back  for  another  ball." 

"I  wonder  who  he  was,"  she  mused. 

"I  don't  remember  seeing  him  before,"  said 
Cleves.  .  .  .  "Shall  we  start  back?" 

They  walked  slowly  across  the  course  toward  the 
tenth  hole. 

Tressa  teed  up,  drove  low  and  straight.  Cleves 
sliced,  and  they  walked  together  into  the  scrub  and 
towards  the  woods,  where  his  ball  had  bounded  into 
a  bunch  of  palm  trees. 

Far  in  among  the  trees  something  white  moved 
and  vanished. 

"Probably  a  white  egret,"  he  remarked,  knocking 
about  in  the  scrub  with  his  midiron. 

"It  was  that  young  man  in  white  flannels,"  said 
Tressa  in  a  low  voice. 

"What  would  he  be  doing  in  there?"  he  asked  in- 
credulously. "That's  merely  a  jungle,  Tressa — 
swamp  and  cypress,  thorn  and  creeper, — and  no  man 
would  go  into  that  mess  if  he  could.  There  is  no 
bottom  to  those  swamps." 

"But  I  saw  him  in  there,"  she  said  in  a  troubled 
voice. 

"But  when  I  tell  you  that  only  a  wild  animal  or  a 


THE  MAN  IN  WHITE  137 

snake  or  a  bird  could  move  in  that  jungle !  The  bog 
is  one  vast  black  quicksand.  There's  death  in  those 
depths." 

''Victor." 

"Yes?"  He  looked  around  at  her.  She  was 
pale.  He  came  up  and  took  her  hand  inquiringly. 

"I  don't  feel — well,"  she  murmured.  "I'm  not  ill, 
you  understand " 

"What's  the  matter,  Tressa?" 

She  shook  her  head  drearily:  "I  don't  know. 
...  I  wonder  whether  I  should  have  tried  to  amuse 
you  this  morning " 

"You  don't  think  you've  stirred  up  any  of  those 
Yezidee  beasts,  do  you?"  he  asked  sharply. 

And  as  she  did  not  answer,  he  asked  again  whether 
she  was  afraid  that  what  she  had  done  that  morning 
might  have  had  any  occult  consequences.  And  he 
reminded  her  that  she  had  hesitated  to  venture  any- 
thing on  that  account. 

His  voice,  in  spite  of  him,  betrayed  great  ner- 
vousness now,  and  he  saw  apprehension  in  her  eyes, 
also. 

"Why  should  that  man  in  white  have  followed  us, 
keeping  out  of  sight  in  the  woods?"  he  went  on. 
"Did  you  notice  about  him  anything  to  disturb  you, 
Tressa?" 

"Not  at  the  time.  But — it's  odd — I  can't  put  him 
out  of  my  mind.  Since  we  passed  him  and  left  him 
apparently  hunting  a  lost  ball,  I  have  not  been  able 
to  put  him  out  of  my  mind." 


138  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"He  seemed  civil  and  well  bred.  He  was  per- 
fectly good-humoured — all  courtesy  and  smiles." 

"I  think — perhaps — it  was  the  way  he  smiled  at 
us,"  murmured  the  girl.  "Everybody  in  the  East 
smiles  when  they  draw  a  knife.  .  .  ." 

He  placed  his  arm  through  hers.  "Aren't  you  a 
trifle  morbid?"  he  said  pleasantly. 

She  stooped  for  her  golf  ball,  retaining  a  hold  on 
his  arm.  He  picked  up  his  ball,  too,  put  away  her 
clubs  and  his,  and  they  started  back  together  in 
silence,  evidently  with  no  desire  to  make  it  eighteen 
holes. 

"It's  a  confounded  shame,"  he  muttered,  "just  as 
you  were  becoming  so  rested  and  so  delightfully  well, 
to  have  anything — any  unpleasant  flash  of  memory 
cut  in  to  upset  you " 

"I  brought  it  on  myself.  I  should  not  have  risked 
stirring  up  the  sinister  minds  that  were  asleep." 

"Hang  it  alll — and  I  asked  you  to  amuse  me." 

"It  was  not  wise  in  me,"  she  said  under  her  breath. 
"It  is  easy  to  disturb  the  unknown  currents  which  en- 
mesh the  globe.  I  ought  not  to  have  shown  you  Yian. 
I  ought  not  to  have  shown  you  Yulun.  It  was  my 
fault  for  doing  that.  I  was  a  little  lonely,  and  I 
wanted  to  see  Yulun." 

i  They  came  down  the  river  back  to  the  canoe, 
threw  in  their  golf  bags,  and  embarked  on  the 
glassy  stream. 

Over  the  calm  flood,  stained  deep  with  crimson, 
the  canoe  glided  in  the  sanguine  evening  light.  But 


THE  MAN  IN  WHITE  139 

Tressa  sang  no  more  and  her  head  was  bent  side- 
ways as  though  listening — always  listening — to 
something  inaudible  to  Cleves — something  very, 
very  far  away  which  she  seemed  to  hear  through 
the  still  drip  of  the  paddles. 

They  were  not  yet  in  sight  of  their  landing  when 
she  spoke  to  him,  partly  turning: 

"I  think  some  of  your  men  have  arrived." 

"Where?"  he  asked,  astonished. 

"At  the  house." 

"Why  do  you  think  so?" 

"I  think  so." 

They  paddled  a  little  faster.  In  a  few  minutes 
their  dock  came  into  view. 

"It's  funny,"  he  said,  "that  you  should  think  some 
of  our  men  have  arrived  from  the  North.  I  don't 
see  anybody  on  the  dock." 

"It's  Mr.  Recklow,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  "He 
is  seated  on  our  veranda." 

As  it  was  impossible  to  see  the  house,  let  alone 
the  veranda,  Cleves  made  no  reply.  He  beached 
the  canoe;  Tressa  stepped  out;  he  followed,  carry- 
ing the  golf  bags. 

A  mousy  light  lingered  in  the  shrubbery;  bats  were 
flying  against  a  salmon-tinted  sky  as  they  took  the 
path  homeward. 

With  an  impulse  quite  involuntary,  Cleves  en* 
circled  his  young  wife's  shoulders  with  his  left  arm. 

"Girl-comrade,"  he  said  lightly,  "I'd  kill  any 
man  who  even  looked  as  though  he'd  harm  you." 


140  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

He  smiled,  but  she  had  not  missed  the  ugly  under- 
tone in  his  words. 

They  walked  slowly,  his  arm  around  her  shoul- 
ders. Suddenly  he  felt  her  start.  They  halted. 

"What  was  it?"  he  whispered. 

"I  thought  there  was  something  white  in  the 
woods." 

"Where,  dear?"  he  asked  coolly. 

"Over  there  beyond  the  lawn." 

What  she  called  the  "lawn"  was  only  a  vast  sheet 
of  pink  and  white  phlox,  now  all  misty  with  the 
whirring  wings  of  sphinx-moths  and  Noctuidae. 

The  oak  grove  beyond  was  dusky.  Cleves  could 
see  nothing  among  the  trees. 

After  a  moment  they  went  forward.  His  arm 
had  fallen  away  from  her  shoulders. 

There  were  no  lights  except  in  the  kitchen  when 
they  came  in  sight  of  the  house.  At  first  nobody 
was  visible  on  the  screened  veranda  under  the  orange 
trees.  But  when  he  opened  the  swing  door  for  her 
a  shadowy  figure  arose  from  a  chair. 

It  was  John  Recklow.  He  came  forward,  bent  his 
strong  white  head,  and  kissed  Tressa's  hand. 

"Is  all  well  with  you,  Mrs.  Cleves?" 

"Yes.     I  am  glad  you  came." 

Cleves  clasped  the  elder  man's  firm  hand. 

"I'm  glad  too,  Recklow.  You'll  stop  with  us,  of 
course." 

"Do  you  really  want  me?" 

"Of  course,"  said  Cleves. 


THE  MAN  IN  WHITE  141 

"All  right.  I've  a  coon  and  a  surrey  behind  your 
house." 

So  Cleves  went  around  in  the  dusk  and  sent  the 
outfit  back  to  the  hotel,  and  he  himself  carried  in 
Recklow's  suitcase. 

Then  Tressa  went  away  to  give  instructions,  and 
the  two  men  were  left  together  on  the  dusky  veranda. 

"Well?"   said  Recklow  quietly. 

Cleves  went  to  him  and  rested  both  hands  on  his 
shoulders : 

"I'm  playing  absolutely  square.  She's  a  perfectly 
fine  girl  and  she'll  have  her  chance  some  day,  God 
willing." 

"Her  chance?"  repeated  Recklow. 

"To  marry  whatever  man  she  will  some  day  care 
for." 

"I  see,"  said  Recklow  drily. 

There  was  a  silence,  then: 

"She's  simply  a  splendid  specimen  of  woman- 
hood," said  Cleves  earnestly.  "And  intensely  inter- 
esting to  me.  Why,  Recklow,  I  haven't  known  a 
dull  moment — though  I  fear  she  has  known 
many " 

"Why?" 

"Why?  Well,  being  married  to  a — a  sort  of 
temporary  figurehead — shut  up  here  all  day  alone 
with  a  man  of  no  particular  interest  to  her " 

"Don't  you  interest  her?" 

"Well,  how  could  I?  She  didn't  choose  me  be- 
cause she  liked  me  particularly." 


142  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"Didn't  she?"  asked  Recklow,  still  more  drily. 
"Well,  that  does  make  it  a  trifle  dull  for  you  both." 

"Not  for  me,"  said  the  younger  man  naively. 
"She  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  women  I  ever 
met.  And  good  heavens ! — what  psychic  knowledge 
that  child  possesses!  She  did  a  thing  to-day — 

merely  to  amuse  me "  He  checked  himself  and 

looked  at  Recklow  out  of  sombre  eyes. 

"What  did  she  do?"  inquired  the  older  man. 

"I  think  I'll  let  her  tell  you — if  she  wishes.  .  .  . 
And  that  reminds  me.  Why  did  you  come  down 
here,  Recklow?" 

"I  want  to  show  you  something,  Cleves.  May  we 
step  into  the  house?" 

They  went  into  a  little  lamplit  living-room.  Reck- 
low  handed  a  newspaper  clipping  to  Cleves :  the  lat- 
ter read  it,  standing: 

<  "HAD  DEADLIEST  GAS  READY  FOR  GERMANS  , 
"  'Lewisite'  Might  Have  Killed  Millions 

"WASHINGTON,  APRIL  24. — Guarded  night  and 
day  and  far  out  of  human  reach  on  a  pedestal  at 
the  Interior  Department  Exposition  here  is  a  tiny 
vial.  It  contains  a  specimen  of  the  deadliest  poison 
ever  known,  'Lewisite,'  the  product  of  an  American 
scientist. 

"Germany  escaped  this  poison  by  signing  the 
armistice  before  all  the  resources  of  the  United 
States  were  turned  upon  her. 

"Ten  airplanes  carrying  'Lewisite'  would  have 


THE  MAN  IN  WHITE  143 

wiped  out,  it  is  said,  every  vestige  of  life — animal 
and  vegetable — in  Berlin.  A  single  day's  output 
would  snuff  out  the  millions  of  lives  on  Manhattan 
Island.  A  drop  poured  in  the  palm  of  the  hand 
would  penetrate  to  the  blood,  reach  the  heart  and 
kill  the  victim  in  agony. 

"What  was  coming  to  Germany  may  be  imagined 
by  the  fact  that  when  the  armistice  was  signed  'Lew- 
isite' was  being  manufactured  at  the  rate  of  ten  tons 
a  day.  Three  thousand  tons  of  this  most  terrible 
instrument  ever  conceived  for  killing  would  have 
been  ready  for  business  on  the  American  front  in 
France  on  November  i. 

'  'Lewisite'  is  another  of  the  big  secrets  of  the 
war  just  leaking  out.  It  was  developed  in  the  Bu- 
reau of  Mines  by  Professor  W.  Lee  Lewis,  of 
Northwestern  University,  Evanston,  111.,  who  took  a 
commission  as  a  captain  in  the  army. 

"The  poison  was  manufactured  in  a  specially 
built  plant  near  Cleveland,  called  the  'Mouse  Trap/ 
because  every  workman  who  entered  the  stockade 
went  under  an  agreement  not  to  leave  the  eleven- 
acre  space  until  the  war  was  won.  The  object  of 
this,  of  course,  was  to  protect  the  secret. 

"Work  on  the  plant  was  started  eighteen  days 
after  the  Bureau  of  Mines  had  completed  its  experi- 
ments. 

"Experts  are  certain  that  no  one  will  want  to 
steal  the  sample.  Everybody  at  the  Exposition, 
which  shows  what  Secretary  Lane's  department  is 
doing,  keeps  as  far  away  from  it  as  possible." 

When  Cleves  had  finished  reading,  he  raised  his 
eyes  in  silence. 

"That  vial  was  stolen  a  week  ago,"  said  Recklow 


144.  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

gravely,  "by  a  young  man  who  killed  one  guard  and 
fatally  wounded  the  other." 

"Was  there  any  ante-mortem  statement?" 

"Yes.  I've  followed  the  man.  I  lost  all  trace  of 
him  at  Palm  Beach,  but  I  picked  it  up  again  at  Or- 
mond.  And  now  I'm  here,  Cleves." 

"You  don't  mean  you've  traced  him  here!"  ex- 
claimed Cleves  under  his  breath. 

"He's  here  on  the  St.  Johns  River,  somewhere. 
He  came  up  in  a  motor-boat,  but  left  it  east  of 
Orchard  Cove.  Benton  knows  this  country.  He's 
covering  the  motor-boat.  And  I — came  here  to  see 
how  you  are  getting  on." 

"And  to  warn  us,"  added  Cleves  quietly. 

"\\re}i — yes<  He's  got  that  stuff.  It's  deadlier 
than  the  newspaper  suspects.  And  I  guess — I  guess, 
Cleves,  he's  one  of  those  damned  Yezidee  witch- 
doctors— or  sorcerers,  as  they  call  them; — one  of 
that  sect  of  Assassins  sent  over  here  to  work  havoc 
on  feeble  minds  and  do  murder  on  the  side." 

"Why  do  you  think  so?" 

"Because  the  dirty  beast  lugs  his  shroud  around 
with  him — a  bed-sheet  stolen  from  the  New  Willard 
in  Washington. 

"We  were  so  close  to  him  in  Jacksonville  that  we 
got  it,  and  his  luggage.  But  we  didn't  get  him,  the 
rat!  God  knows  how  he  knew  we  were  waiting  for 
him  in  his  room.  He  never  came  back  to  get  his 
luggage. 

"But  he  stole  a  bed-sheet  from  his  hotel  in  St. 


THE  MAN  IN  WHITE  145 

Augustine,  and  that  is  how  we  picked  him  up  again. 
Then,  at  Palm  Beach,  we  lost  the  beggar,  but  some- 
how or  other  I  felt  it  in  my  bones  that  he  was  after 
you — you  and  your  wife.  So  I  sent  Benton  to  Or- 
mond  and  I  went  to  Palatka.  Benton  picked  up  his 
trail.  It  led  toward  you — toward  the  St.  Johns. 
And  the  reptile  has  been  here  forty-eight  hours,  try- 
ing to  nose  you  out,  I  suppose " 

Tressa  came  into  the  room.  Both  men  looked  at 
her. 

Cleves  said  in  a  guarded  voice : 

"To-day,  on  the  golf  links  at  Orchard  Cove,  there 
was  a  young  man  in  white  flannels — very  polite  and 
courteous  to  us — but — Tressa  thought  she  saw  him 
slinking  through  the  woods  as  though  following  and 
watching  us." 

"My  man,  probably,"  said  Recklow.  He  turned 
quietly  to  Tressa  and  sketched  for  her  the  substance 
of  what  he  had  just  told  Cleves. 

"The  man  in  white  flannels  on  the  golf  links,"  said 
Cleves,  "was  well  built  and  rather  handsome,  and 
not  more  than  twenty-five.  I  thought  he  was  a 
Jew." 

"I  thought  so  too,"  said  Tressa,  calmly,  "until  I 
saw  him  in  "the  woods.  And  then — and  then — sud- 
denly it  came  to  me  that  his  smile  was  the  smile  of 
a  treacherous  Shaman  sorcerer. 

".  .  .  And  the  idea  haunts  me — the  memory  of 
those  smooth-faced,  smiling  men  in  white — men  who 
smile  only  when  they  slay — when  they  slay  body 


146  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

and  soul  under  the  iris  skies  of  Yian! — O  God,  mer- 
ciful, long  suffering,"  she  whispered,  staring  into  the 
East,  "deliver  our  souls  from  Satan  who  was  stoned, 
and  our  bodies  from  the  snare  of  the  Yezideel" 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  WEST  WIND 

THE  night  grew  sweet  with  the  scent  of  orange 
bloom,  and  all  the  perfumed  darkness  was 
vibrant  with  the  feathery  whirr  of  hawk- 
moths'  wings. 

Tressa  had  taken  her  moon-lute  to  the  hammock, 
but  her  fingers  rested  motionless  on  the  strings. 

Cleves  and  Recklow,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  paced 
the  moonlit  path  along  the  hedges  of  oleander  and 
hibiscus  which  divided  garden  from  jungle. 

And  they  moved  cautiously  on  the  white-shell 
road,  not  too  near  the  shadow  line.  For  in  the 
cypress  swamp  the  bloated  grey  death  was  awake 
and  watching  under  the  moon ;  and  in  the  scrub  pal- 
metto the  diamond-dotted  death  moved  lithely. 

And  somewhere  within  the  dark  evil  of  the  jungle 
a  man  in  white  might  be  watching. 

So  Recklow's  pistol  swung  lightly  in  his  right 
hand  and  Cleves'  weapon  lay  in  his  side-pocket,  and 
they  strolled  leisurely  around  the  drive  and  up  and 
down  the  white-shell  walks,  passing  Tressa  at  regu- 
lar intervals,  where  she  sat  in  her  hammock  with 
the  moon-lute  across  her  knees. 

Once  Cleves  paused  to  place  two  pink  hibiscus 
147 


148  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

blossoms  in  her  hair  above  her  ears;  and  the  girl 
smiled  gravely  at  him  in  the  light. 

Again,  pausing  beside  her  hammock  on  one  of 
their  tours  of  the  garden,  Recklow  said  in  a  low 
voice :  "If  the  beast  would  only  show  himself,  Mrs. 
Cleves,  we'd  not  miss  him.  Have  you  caught  a 
glimpse  of  anything  white  in  the  woods?" 

"Only  the  night  mist  rising  from  the  branch  and 
a  white  ibis  stealing  through  it." 

Cleves  came  nearer:  "Do  you  think  the  Yezidee  is 
in  the  woods  watching  us,  Tressa?" 

"Yes,  he  is  there,"  she  said  calmly. 

"You  know  it?" 

"Yes." 

Recklow  stared  at  the  woods.  "We  can't  go  in 
to  hunt  for  him,"  he  said.  "That  fellow  would  get 
us  with  his  Lewisite  gas  before  we  could  discover  and 
destroy  him." 

"Suppose  he  waits  for  a  west  wind  and  squirts 
his  gas  in  this  direction?"  whispered  Cleves. 

"There  is  no  wind,"  said  Tressa  tranquilly.  "He 
has  been  waiting  for  it,  I  think.  The  Yezidee  is 
very  patient.  And  he  is  a  Shaman  sorcerer." 

"My  God!"  breathed  Recklow.  "What  sort  of 
hellish  things  has  the  Old  World  been  dumping  into 
America  for  the  last  fifty  years?  An  ordinary  anar- 
chist is  bad  enough,  but  this  new  breed  of  devil — 
these  Yezidees — this  sect  of  Assassins " 

"Hush!"  whispered  Tressa. 

All  three  listened  to  the  great  cat-owl  howling 
from  the  jungle.  But  Tressa  had  heard  another 


THE  WEST  WIND  149 

sound — the  vague  stir  of  leaves  in  the  live-oaks.  Was 
it  a  passing  breeze?  Was  a  night  wind  rising?  She 
listened.  But  heard  no  brittle  clatter  from  the 
palm-fronds. 

"Victor,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  Tressa." 

"If  a  wind  comes,  we  must  hunt  him.  That  will 
be  necessary." 

"Either  we  hunt  him  and  get  him,  or  he  kills  us 
here  with  his  gas,"  said  Recklow  quietly. 

"If  the  night  wind  comes,"  said  Tressa,  "we  must 
hunt  the  darkness  for  the  Yezidee."  She  spoke 
coolly. 

"If  he'd  only  show  himself,"  muttered  Recklow, 
staring  into  the  darkness. 

The  girl  picked  up  her  lute,  caught  Cleves'  worried 
eyes  fixed  on  her,  suddenly  comprehended  that  his 
anxiety  was  on  her  account,  and  blushed  brightly 
in  the  moonlight.  And  he  saw  her  teeth  catch  at 
her  underlip;  saw  her  look  up  again  at  him,  con- 
fused. 

"If  I  dared  leave  you,"  he  said,  "I'd  go  into  the 
hammock  and  start  that  reptile.  This  won't  do — 
this  standing  pat  while  he  comes  to  some  deadly  de- 
cision in  the  woods  there." 

"What  else  is  there  to  do?"  growled  Recklow. 

"Watch,"  said  the  girl.  "Out-watch  the  Yezidee. 
If  there  is  no  night-wind  he  may  tire  of  waiting. 
Then  you  must  shoot  fast — very,  very  fast  and 
straight.  But  if  the  night-wind  comes,  then  we  must 
hunt  him  in  darkness." 


150  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

Recklow,  pistol  in  hand,  stood  straight  and  sturdy 
in  the  moonlight,  gazing  fixedly  at  the  forest.  Cleves 
sat  down  at  his  wife's  feet. 

She  touched  her  moon-lute  tranquilly  and  sang 
in  her  childish  voice : 

"Ring,  ring,  Buddha  bells, 
Gilded  gods  are  listening. 
Swing,  swing,  lily  bells, 
In  my  garden  glistening. 
Now  I  hear  the  Shaman  drum; 
Now  the  scarlet  horsemen  come; 

Ding-dong! 

Ding-dong! 

Through  the  chanting  of  the  throng 
Thunders  now  the  temple  gong. 

Boom-boom! 

Ding-dong! 

"Let  the  gold  gods  listen! 
In  my  garden;  what  care  I 
Where  my  lily  bells  hang  mute! 

Snowy-sweet  they  glisten 
Where  I'm  singing  to  my  lute. 
In  my  garden;  what  care  I 

Who  is  dead  and  who  shall  die? 
'Let  the  gold  gods  save  or  slay 
Scented  lilies  bloom  in  May. 

Boom,  boom,  temple  gong! 
Ding-dong! 
Ding-dong!" 

"What  are  you  singing?"  whispered  Cleves. 
"  The  Bells  of  Yian.'  " 
"Is  it  old?" 


THE  WEST  WIND  151 

"Of  the  1 3th  century.  There  were  few  Buddhist 
bells  in  Yian  then.  It  is  Lamaism  that  has  destroyed 
the  Mongols  and  that  has  permitted  the  creed  of  the 
Assassins  to  spread — the  devil  worhip  of  Erlik." 

He  looked  at  her,  not  understanding.  And  she, 
pale,  slim  prophetess,  in  the  moonlight,  gazed  at  him 
out  of  lost  eyes — eyes  which  saw,  perhaps,  the 
bloody  age  of  men  when  mankind  took  the  devil  by 
the  throat  and  all  Mount  Alamout  went  up  in  smok- 
ing ruin ;  and  the  Eight  Towers  were  dark  as  death 
and  as  silent  before  the  blast  of  the  silver  clarions  of 
Ghenghis  Khan. 

"Something  is  stirring  in  the  forest,"  whispered 
Tressa,  her  fingers  on  her  lips. 

"Damnation,"  muttered  Recklow,  "it's  the 
wind!" 

They  listened.  Far  in  the  forest  they  heard  the 
clatter  of  palm-fronds.  They  waited.  The  ominous 
warning  grew  faint,  then  rose  again, — a  long,  low 
rattle  of  palm-fronds  which  became  a  steady  mono- 
tone. 

"We  hunt,"  said  Recklow  bluntly.    "Come  on!" 

But  the  girl  sprang  from  the  hammock  and  caught 
her  husband's  arm  and  drew  Recklow  back  from  the 
hibiscus  hedge. 

"Use  me,"  she  said.  "You  could  never  find  the 
Yezidee.  Let  me  do  the  hunting;  and  then  shoot 
very,  very  fast." 

"We've  got  to  take  her,"  said  Recklow.  "We 
dare  not  leave  her." 


152  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"I  can't  let  her  lead  the  way  into  those  black 
woods,"  muttered  Cleves. 

"The  wind  is  blowing  in  my  face,"  insisted  Reck- 
low.  "We'd  better  hurry." 

Tressa  laid  one  hand  on  her  husband's  arm. 

"I  can  find  the  Yezidee,  I  think.  You  never  could 
find  him  before  he  finds  you !  Victor,  let  me  use  my 
own  knowledge!  Let  me  find  the  way.  Please  let 
me  lead !  Please,  Victor.  Because,  if  you  don't,  I'm 
afraid  we'll  all  die  here  in  the  garden  where  we 
stand." 

Cleves  cast  a  haggard  glance  at  Recklow,  then 
looked  at  his  wife. 

"All  right,"  he  said. 

The  girl  opened  the  hedge  gate.  Both  men  fol- 
lowed with  pistols  lifted. 

The  moon  silvered  the  forest.  There  was  no 
mist,  but  a  night-wind  blew  mournfully  through  palm 
and  cypress,  carrying  with  it  the  strange,  disturbing 
pungency  of  the  jungle — wild,  unfamiliar  perfumes, 
— the  acrid  aroma  of  swamp  and  rotting  mould. 

"What  about  snakes?"  muttered  Recklow,  knee 
deep  in  wild  phlox. 

But  there  was  a  deadlier  snake  to  find  and  destroy, 
somewhere  in  the  blotched  shadows  of  the  forest. 

The  first  sentinel  trees  were  very  near,  now;  and 
Tressa  was  running  across  a  ghostly  tangle,  where 
once  had  been  an  orange  grove,  and  where  aged  and 
dying  citrus  stumps  rose  stark  amid  the  riot  of  en- 
croaching jungle. 

"She's  circling  to  get  the  wind  at  our  backs," 


THE  WEST  WIND  153 

breathed  Recklow,  running  forward  beside  Cleves. 
"That's  our  only  chance  to  kill  the  dirty  rat — catch 
him  with  the  wind  at  our  backs  I" 

Once,  traversing  a  dry  hammock  where  streaks 
of  moonlight  alternated  with  velvet-black  shadow  a 
rattlesnake  sprang  his  goblin  alarm. 

They  could  not  locate  the  reptile.  They  shrank 
together  and  moved  warily,  chilled  with  fear. 

Once,  too,  clear  in  the  moonlight,  the  Grey  Death 
reared  up  from  bloated  folds  and  stood  swaying 
rhythmically  in  a  horrible  shadow  dance  before  them. 
And  Cleves  threw  one  arm  around  his  wife  and 
crept  past,  giving  death  a  wide  berth  there  in  the 
checkered  moonlight. 

Now,  under  foot,  the  dry  hammock  lay  every- 
where and  the  night  wind  blew  on  their  backs. 

Then  Tressa  turned  and  halted  the  two  men  with 
a  gesture.  And  went  to  her  husband  where  he  stood 
in  the  palm  forest,  and  laid  her  hands  on  his  shoul- 
ders, looking  him  very  wistfully  in  the  eyes. 

Under  her  searching  gaze  he  seemed  oddly  to 
comprehend  her  appeal. 

"You  are  going  to  use — to  use  your  knowledge," 
he  said  mechanically.  "You  are  going  to  find  the 
man  in  white." 

"Yes." 

"You  are  going  to  find  him  in  a  way  we  don't  un- 
derstand," he  continued,  dully. 

"Yes.  .  .  .  You  will  not  hold  me  in — in  horror — 
will  you?" 


154  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

Recklow  came  up,  making  no  sound  on  the  spongy 
palm  litter  underfoot. 

"Can  you  find  this  devil?"  he  whispered. 

"I— think  so." 

"Does  your  super-instinct — finer  sense — knowl- 
edge— whatever  it  is — give  you  any  inkling  as  to  his 
whereabouts,  Mrs.  Cleves?" 

"I  think  he  is  here  in  this  hammock.  Only " 

she  turned  again,  with  swift  impulse,  to  her  husband, 
" — only  if  you — if  you  do  not  hold  me  in — in  horror 
— because  of  what  I  do " 

There  was  a  silence ;  then : 

"What  are  you  about  to  do?"  he  asked  hoarsely. 

"Slay  this  man." 

"We'll  do  that,"  said  Cleves  with  a  shudder. 
"Only  show  him  to  us  and  we'll  shoot  the  dirty 
reptile  to  slivers " 

"Suppose  we  hit  the  jar  of  gas,"  said  Recklow. 

After  a  silence,  Tressa  said: 

"I  have  got  to  give  him  back  to  Satan.  There  is 
no  other  way.  I  understood  that  from  the  first.  He 
can  not  die  by  your  pistols,  though  you  shoot  very 
fast  and  straight.  No!" 

After  another  silence,  Recklow  said: 

"You  had  better  find  him  before  the  wind  changes. 
We  hunt  down  wind  or — we  die  here  together." 

She  looked  at  her  husband. 

"Show  him  to  us  in  your  own  way,"  he  said,  "and 
deal  with  him  as  he  must  be  dealt  with." 

A  gleam  passed  across  her  pale  face  and  she  tried 
to  smile  at  her  husband. 


THE  WEST  WIND  155 

Then,  turning  down  the  hammock  to  the  east,  she 
walked  noiselessly  forward  over  the  fibrous  litter, 
the  men  on  either  side  of  her,  their  pistols  poised. 

They  had  halted  on  the  edge  of  an  open  glade, 
ringed  with  young  pines  in  fullest  plumage. 

Tressa  was  standing  very  straight  and  still  in  a 
strange,  supple,  agonised  attitude,  her  left  forearm 
across  her  eyes,  her  right  hand  clenched,  her  slender 
body  slightly  twisted  to  the  left. 

The  men  gazed  pallidly  at  her  with  tense,  set 
faces,  knowing  that  the  girl  was  in  terrible  mental 
conflict  against  another  mind — a  powerful,  sinister 
mind  which  was  seeking  to  grasp  her  thoughts  and 
control  them. 

Minute  after  minute  sped :  the  girl  never  moved, 
locked  in  her  psychic  duel  with  this  other  brutal 
mind, — beating  back  its  terrible  thought-waves  which 
were  attacking  her,  fighting  for  mental  supremacy, 
struggling  in  silence  with  an  unseen  adversary  whose 
mental  dominance  meant  death. 

Suddenly  her  cry  rang  out  sharply  in  the  moon- 
light, and  then,  all  at  once,  a  man  in  white  stood 
there  in  the  lustre  of  the  moon — a  young,  graceful 
man  dressed  in  white  flannels  and  carrying  on  his 
right  arm  what  seemed  to  be  a  long  white  cloak. 

Instantly  the  girl  was  transformed  from  a  living 
statue  into  a  lithe,  supple,  lightly  moving  thing  that 
passed  swiftly  to  the  west  of  the  glade,  keeping  the 
young  man  in  white  facing  the  wind,  which  was  blow- 
ing and  tossing  the  plumy  young  pines. 

"So  it  is  you,  young  man,  with  whom  I  have 


156  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

been  wrestling  here  under  the  moon  of  the  only 
God!"  she  said  in  a  strange  little  voice,  all  vibrant 
and  metallic  with  menacing  laughter. 

"It  is  I,  Keuke  Mongol,"  replied  the  young  man 
in  white,  tranquilly;  yet  his  words  came  as  though 
he  were  tired  and  out  of  breath,  and  the  hand  he 
raised  to  touch  his  small  black  moustache  trembled 
as  if  from  physical  exhaustion. 

"Yarghouz!"  she  exclaimed.  "Why  did  I  not 
know  you  there  on  the  golf  links,  Assassin  of  the 
Seventh  Tower?  And  why  do  you  come  here  with 
your  shroud  over  your  arm  and  hidden  under  it,  in 
your  right  hand,  a  flask  full  of  death?" 

He  said,  smiling: 

"I  come  because  you  are  to  die,  Heavenly-Azure 
Eyes.  I  bring  you  your  shroud."  And  he  moved 
warily  westward  around  the  open  circle  of  young 
pines. 

Instantly  the  girl  flung  her  right  arm  straight  up- 
ward. 

"Yarghouz!" 

"I  hear  thee,  Heavenly  Azure." 

"Another  step  to  the  west  and  I  shatter  thy  flask 
of  gas." 

"With  what?"  he  demanded;  but  stood  discreetly 
motionless. 

"With  what  I  grasp  in  an  empty  palm.  Thou 
knowest,  Yarghouz." 

"I  have  heard,"  he  said  with  smiling  uncertainty, 
"but  to  hear  of  force  that  can  be  hurled  out  of  an 


THE  WEST  WIND  157 

empty  palm  is  one  thing,  and  to  see  it  and  feel  it  is 
another.  I  think  you  lie,  Heavenly  Azure." 

"So  thought  Gutchlug.  And  died  of  a  yellow 
snake." 

The  young  man  seemed  to  reflect.  Then  he  looked 
up  at  her  in  his  frank,  smiling  way. 

"Wilt  thou  listen,  Heavenly  Eyes?" 

"I  hear  thee,  Yarghouz." 

"Listen  then,  Keuke  Mongol.  Take  life  from  us 
as  we  offer  it.  Life  is  sweet.  Erlik,  like  a  spider, 
waits  in  darkness  for  lost  souls  that  flutter  to  his 
net." 

"You  think  my  soul  was  lost  there  in  the  temple, 
Yarghouz?" 

"Unutterably  lost,  little  temple  girl  of  Yian. 
Therefore,  live.  Take  life  as  a  gift!" 

"Whose  gift?" 

"Sanang's." 

"It  is  written,"  she  said  gravely,  "that  we  belong 
to  God  and  we  return  to  him.  Now  then,  Yezidee, 
do  your  duty  as  I  do  mine  !  Kai !" 

At  the  sound  of  the  formula  always  uttered  by  the 
sect  of  Assassins  when  about  to  do  murder,  the 
young  man  started  and  shrank  back.  The  west  wind 
blew  fresh  in  his  startled  eyes. 

"Sorceress,"  he  said  less  firmly,  "you  leave  your 
Yiort  to  come  all  alone  into  this  forest  and  seek  me. 
Why  then  have  you  come,  if  not  to  submit ! — if  not 
to  take  the  gift  of  life — if  not  to  turn  away  from 
your  seducers  who  are  hunting  me,  and  who  have 
corrupted  you?" 


158  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"Yarghouz,  I  come  to  slay  you,"  she  said  quietly. 

Suddenly  the  man  snarled  at  her,  flung  the  shroud 
at  her  feet,  and  crept  deliberately  to  the  left. 

"Be  careful !"  she  cried  sharply;  "look  what  you're 
about !  Stand  still,  son  of  a  dog !  May  your  mother 
bewail  your  death!" 

Yarghouz  edged  toward  tlie  west,  clasping  in  his 
right  hand  the  flask  of  gas. 

"Sorceress,"  he  laughed,  "a  witch  of  Thibet 
prophesied  with  a  drum  that  the  three  purities,  the 
nine  perfections,  and  the  nine  times  nine  felicities 
shall  be  lodged  in  him  who  slays  the  treacherous 
temple  girl,  Keuke  Mongol!  There  is  more  magic 
in  this  bottle  which  I  grasp  than  in  thy  mind  and 
body.  Heavenly  Eyes !  I  pray  God  to  be  merciful 
to  this  soul  I  send  to  Erlik!" 

All  the  time  he  was  advancing,  edging  cautiously 
around  the  circle  of  little  plumy  pines ;  and  already 
the  wind  struck  his  left  cheek. 

"Yarghouz  Khan!"  cried  the  girl  in  her  clear 
voice.  "Take  up  your  shroud  and  repeat  the  fatha !" 

"Backward!"  laughed  the  young  man,  " — as  do 
you,  Keuke  Mongol!" 

"Heretic!"  she  retorted.  "Do  you  also  refuse  to 
name  the  ten  Imaums  in  your  prayers?  Dog!  Toad! 
Spittle  of  Erlik!  May  all  your  cattle  die  and  all 
your  horses  take  the  glanders  and  all  your  dogs  the 
mange!" 

"Silence,  sorceress!"  he  shouted,  pale  with  fear 
and  fury.  "Witch !  Mud  worm !  May  Erlik  seize 
you!  May  your  skin  be  covered  with  putrefying 


THE  WEST  WIND  159 

sores !  May  all  the  demons  torment  you !  May  God 
remember  you  in  hell!" 

"Yarghouz!     Stand  still  1" 

"Is  your  word  then  the  Rampart  of  Gog  and 
Magog,  you  young  witch  of  Yian,  that  a  Khan  of  the 
Seventh  Tower  need  fear  you!"  he  sneered,  stealing 
stealthily  westward  through  the  feathery  pines. 

"I  give  thee  thy  last  chance,  Yarghouz  Khan,"  she 
said  in  an  excited  voice  that  trembled.  "Recite  thy 
prayer  naming  the  ten,  because  with  their  holy  names 
upon  thy  lips  thou  mayest  escape  damnation.  For  I 
am  here  to  slay  thee,  Yarghouz!  Take  up  thy 
shroud  and  pray!" 

The  young  man  felt  the  west  wind  at  the  back  of 
his  left  ear.  Then  he  began  to  laugh. 

"Heavenly  Eyes,"  he  said,  "thy  end  is  come — to- 
gether with  the  two  police  who  hide  in  the  pines  yon- 
der behind  thee !  Behold  the  bottle  magic  of  Yarg- 
houz Khan!" 

And  he  lifted  the  glass  flask  in  the  moonlight  as 
though  he  were  about  to  smash  it  at  her  feet. 

Then  a  terrible  thing  occurred.  The  entire  flask 
glowed  red  hot  in  his  grasp ;  and  the  man  screamed 
and  strove  convulsively  to  fling  the  bottle;  but  it 
stuck  to  his  hand,  melted  into  the  smoking  flesh. 

Then  he  screamed  again- — or  tried  to — but  his 
entire  lower  jaw  came  off  and  he  stood  there  with 
the  awful  orifice  gaping  in  the  moonlight — stood, 
reeled  a  moment — and  then — and  then — his  whole 
face  slid  off,  leaving  nothing  but  a  bony  mask  out  of 
which  burst  shriek  after  shriek 


160  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

Keuke  Mongol  had  fainted  dead  away.  Cleves 
took  her  into  his  arms. 

Recklow,  trembling  and  deathly  white,  went  over 
to  the  thing  that  lay  among  the  young  pines  and 
forced  himself  to  bend  over  it. 

The  glass  flask  still  stuck  to  one  charred  hand,  but 
it  was  no  longer  hot.  And  Recklow  rolled  the  un- 
speakable thing  into  the  white  shroud  and  pushed  it 
into  the  swamp. 

An  evil  ooze  took  it,  slowly  sucked  it  under  and 
engulfed  it.  A  few  stinking  bubbles  broke. 

Recklow  went  back  to  the  little  glade  among  the 
pines. 

A  young  girl  lay  sobbing  convulsively  in  her  hus- 
band's arms,  asking  God's  pardon  and  his  for  the 
justice  she  had  done  upon  an  enemy  of  all  man- 
kind. 


CHAPTER  X 

AT  THE  RITZ 

TTTHEN  Victor  Cleves    telegraphed  from  St. 

Vl/     Augustine  to  Washington  that  he  and  his 

wife  were  on  their  way  North,  and  that 

they  desired  to  see  John  Recklow  as  soon  as  they 

arrived,  John  Recklow  remarked  that  he  knew  of  no 

place  as  private  as  a  public  one.    And  he  came  on  to 

New  York  and  established  himself  at  the  Ritz,  rather 

regally. 

To  dine  with  him  that  evening  were  two  volun- 
teer agents  of  the  United  States  Secret  Service, 
ZB-303,  otherwise  James  Benton,  a  fashionable  ar- 
chitect; and  XYL-3?i,  Alexander  Selden,  sometime 
junior  partner  in  the  house  of  Milwin,  Selden  &  Co. 

A  single  lamp  was  burning  in  the  white-and-rose 
rococo  room.  Under  its  veiled  glow  these  three  men 
sat  conversing  in  guarded  voices  over  coffee  and 
cigars,  awaiting  the  advent  of  53-6-26,  otherwise 
Victor  Cleves,  recently  Professor  of  Ornithology  at 
Cambridge;  and  his  young  wife,  Tressa,  known  offi- 
cially as  V-6g. 

"Did  the  trip  South  do  Mrs.  Cleves  any  good?" 
inquired  Benton. 

"Some,"  said  Recklow.  "When  Selden  and  I  saw 
her  she  was  getting  better." 
161 


162  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"I  suppose  that  affair  of  Yarghouz  upset  her 
pretty  thoroughly." 

"Yes."  Recklow  tossed  his  cigar  into  the  fireplace 
and  produced  a  pipe.  "Victor  Cleves  upsets  her 
more,"  he  remarked. 

"Why?"  asked  Benton,  astonished. 

"She's  beginning  to  fall  in  love  with  him  and 
doesn't  know  what's  the  matter  with  her,"  replied  the 
elder  man  drily.  "Selden  noticed  it,  too." 

Benton  looked  immensely  surprised.  "I  sup- 
posed," he  said,  "that  she  and  Cleves  considered  the 
marriage  to  be  merely  a  temporary  necessity.  I 
didn't  imagine  that  they  cared  for  each  other." 

"I  don't  suppose  they  did  at  first,"  said  Selden. 
"But  I  think  she's  interested  in  Victor.  And  I  don't 
see  how  he  can  help  falling  in  love  with  her,  because 
she's  a  very  beautiful  thing  to  gaze  on,  and  a  most 
engaging  one  to  talk  to." 

"She's  about  the  prettiest  girl  I  ever  saw,"  ad- 
mitted Benton,  "and  about  the  cleverest.  All  the 
same " 

"All  the  same — what?" 

"Well,  Mrs.  Cleves  has  her  drawbacks,  you  know 
— as  a  real  wife,  I  mean." 

Recklow  said:  "There  is  a  fixed  idea  in  Cleves's 
head  that  Tressa  Nome  married  him  as  a  last  resort, 
which  is  true.  But  he'll  never  believe  she's  changed 
her  ideas  in  regard  to  him  unless  she  herself  en- 
lightens him.  And  the  girl  is  too  shy  to  do  that. 
Besides,  she  believes  the  same  thing  of  him.  There's 
a  mess  for  you!" 


AT  THE  RITZ  163 

Recklow  filled  his  pipe  carefully. 

"In  addition,"  he  went  on,  "Mrs.  Cleves  has 
another  and  very  terrible  fixed  idea  in  her  charming 
head,  and  that  is  that  she  really  did  lose  her  soul 
among  those  damned  Yezidees.  She  believes  that 
Cleves,  though  kind  to  her,  considers  her  merely 
as  something  uncanny — something  to  endure  until 
this  Yezidee  campaign  is  ended  and  she  is  safe  from 
assassination." 

Benton  said:  "After  all,  and  in  spite  of  all  her 
loveliness,  I  myself  should  not  feel  entirely  comfort- 
able with  such  a  girl  for  a  real  wife." 

"Why?"  demanded  Recklow. 

"Well — good  heavens,  John! — those  uncanny 
things  she  does — her  rather  terrifying  psychic 
knowledge  and  ability — make  a  man  more  or  less  un- 
easy." He  laughed  without  mirth. 

"For  example,"  he  added,  "I  never  was  nervous 
in  any  physical  crisis;  but  since  I've  met  Tressa 
Nome — to  be  frank — I'm  not  any  too  comfortable  in 
my  mind  when  I  remember  Gutchlug  and  Sanang 
and  Albert  Feke  and  that  dirty  reptile  Yarghouz — 
and  when  I  recollect  how  that  girl  dealt  with  them! 
Good  God,  John,  I'm  not  a  coward,  I  hope,  but  that 
sort  of  thing  worries  me!" 

Recklow  lighted  his  pipe.  He  said:  "In  the  Gov- 
ernment's campaign  against  these  eight  foreigners 
who  have  begun  a  psychic  campaign  against  the  un- 
suspicious people  of  this  decent  Republic,  with  the 
purpose  of  surprising,  overpowering  and  enslaving 
the  minds  of  mankind  by  a  misuse  of  psychic  power, 


164.  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

we  agents  of  the  Secret  Service  are  slowly  gaining 
the  upper  hand. 

"In  this  battle  of  minds  we  are  gaining  a  victory. 
But  we  are  winning  solely  and  alone  through  the 
psychic  ability  and  the  loyalty  and  courage  of  a 
young  girl  who,  through  tragedy  of  circumstances, 
spent  the  years  of  her  girlhood  in  the  infamous 
Yezidee  temple  at  Yian,  and  who  learned  from  the 
devil-worshipers  themselves  not  only  this  so-called 
magic  of  the  Mongol  sorcerers,  but  also  how  to  meet 
its  psychic  menace  and  defeat  it." 

He  looked  at  Benton,  shrugged: 

"If  you  and  if  Cleves  really  feel  the  slightest  re- 
pugnance toward  the  strange  psychic  ability  of  this 
brave  and  generous  girl,  I  for  one  do  not  share  it." 

Benton  reddened:  "It  isn't  exactly  repug- 
nance  "  But  Recklow  interrupted  sharply: 

"Do  you  realise,  Benton,  what  she's  already  ac- 
complished for  us  in  our  secret  battle  against  Bol- 
shevism?— against  the  very  powers  of  hell  itself,  led 
by  these  Mongol  sorcerers? 

"Of  the  Eight  Assassins — or  Sheiks-el-Djebel — 
who  came  to  the  United  States  to  wield  the  dreadful 
weapon  of  psychic  power  against  the  minds  of  our 
people,  and  to  pervert  them  and  destroy  all  civilisa- 
tion,— of  the  Eight  Chief  Assassins  of  the  Eight 
Towers,  this  girl  already  has  discovered  and  identi- 
fied four, — Sanang,  Gutchlug,  Albert  Feke,  and 
Yarghouz;  and  she  has  destroyed  the  last  three." 

He  sat  calmly  enjoying  his  pipe  for  a  few  mo- 
ments' silence,  then: 


AT  THE  RITZ  165 

"Five  of  this  sect  of  Assassins  remain — five  sly, 
murderous,  psychic  adepts  who  call  themselves  sor- 
cerers. Except  for  Prince  Sanang,  I  do  not  know 
who  these  other  four  men  may  be.  I  haven't  a  no- 
tion. Nor  have  you.  Nor  do  I  believe  that  with  all 
the  resources  of  the  United  States  Secret  Service  we 
ever  should  be  able  to  discover  these  four  Sheiks- 
el-Djebel  except  for  the  astounding  spiritual  courage 
and  psychic  experience  of  the  young  wife  of  Victor 
Cleves." 

After  a  moment  Selden  nodded.  "That  is  quite 
true,"  he  said  simply.  "We  are  utterly  helpless 
against  unknown  psychic  forces.  And  I,  for  one,  feel 
no  repugnance  toward  what  Mrs.  Cleves  has  done 
for  all  mankind  and  in  the  name  of  God." 

"She's  a  brave  girl,"  muttered  Benton,  "but  it's 
terrible  to  possess  such  knowledge  and  horrible  to 
use  it." 

Recklow  said :  "The  horror  of  it  nearly  killed  the 
girl  herself.  Have  you  any  idea  how  she  must  suffer 
by  being  forced  to  employ  such  terrific  knowledge? 
by  being  driven  to  use  it  to  combat  this  menace  of 
hell?  Can  you  imagine  what  this  charming,  sensitive, 
tragic  young  creature  must  feel  when,  with  powers 
natural  to  her  but  unfamiliar  to  us,  she  destroys 
with  her  own  mind  and  will-power  demons  in  human 
shape  who  are  about  to  destroy  her? 

"Talk  of  nerve!  Talk  of  abnegation!  Talk  of 
perfect  loyalty  and  courage!  There  is  more  than 
these  in  Tressa  Cleves.  There  is  that  dauntless 
bravery  which  faces  worse  than  physical  death.  Be- 


166  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

cause  the  child  still  believes  that  her  soul  is  damned 
for  whatever  happened  to  her  in  the  Yezidee  temple ; 
and  that  when  these  Yezidees  succeed  in  killing  her 
body,  Erlik  will  surely  seize  the  soul  that  leaves  it." 
There  was  a  knocking  at  the  door.  Benton  got  up 
and  opened  it.  Victor  Cleves  came  in  with  his  young 
wife. 

Tressa  Cleves  seemed  to  have  grown  since  she 
had  been  away.  Taller,  a  trifle  paler,  yet  without 
even  the  subtlest  hint  of  that  charming  maturity 
which  the  young  and  happily  married  woman  invari- 
ably wears,  her  virginal  allure  now  verged  vaguely 
on  the  delicate  edges  of  austerity. 

Cleves,  sunburnt  and  vigorous,  looked  older, 
somehow — far  less  boyish — and  he  seemed  more 
silent  than  when,  nearly  seven  months  before,  he  had 
been  assigned  to  the  case  of  Tressa  Nome. 

Recklow,  Selden  and  Benton  greeted  them 
warmly;  to  each  in  turn  Tressa  gave  her  narrow, 
sun-tanned  hand.  Recklow  led  her  to  a  seat.  A 
servant  came  with  iced  fruit  juice  and  little  cakes 
and  cigarettes. 

Conversation,  aimless  and  general,  fulfilling  for- 
malities, gradually  ceased. 

A  full  June  moon  stared  through  the  open  win- 
dows— searching  for  the  traditional  bride,  perhaps — 
and  its  light  silvered  a  pale  and  lovely  figure  that 
might  possibly  have  passed  for  the  pretty  ghost  of 
a  bride,  but  not  for  any  girl  who  had  married  be- 
cause she  was  loved. 


AT  THE  RITZ  167 

Recklow  broke  the  momentary  silence,  bluntly: 

"Have  you  anything  to  report,  Cleves?" 

The  young  fellow  hesitated: 

"My  wife  has,  I  believe." 

The  others  turned  to  her.  She  seemed,  for  a 
moment,  to  shrink  back  in  her  chair,  and,  as  her  eyes 
involuntarily  sought  her  husband,  there  was  in  them 
a  vague  and  troubled  appeal. 

Cleves  said  in  a  sombre  voice:  "I  need  scarcely 
remind  you  how  deeply  distasteful  this  entire  and 
accursed  business  is  to  my  wife.  But  she  is  going  to 
see  it  through,  whatever  the  cost.  And  we  four  men 
understand  something  of  what  it  has  cost  her — is 
costing  her — in  violence  to  her  every  instinct." 

"We  honour  her  the  more,"  said  Recklow  quietly. 

"We  couldn't  honour  her  too  much,"  said  Cleves. 

A  slight  colour  came  into  Tressa's  face ;  she  bent 
her  head,  but  Recklow  saw  her  eyes  steal  sideways 
toward  her  husband. 

Still  bowed  a  little  in  her  chair,  she  seemed  to  re- 
flect for  a  while  concerning  what  she  had  to  say; 
then,  looking  up  at  John  Recklow: 

"I  saw  Sanang." 

"Good  heavens!     Where?"  he  demanded. 

"I — don't — know." 

Cleves,  flushing  with  embarrassment,  explained: 
"She  saw  him  clairvoyantly.  She  was  lying  in  the 
hammock.  You  remember  I  had  a  trained  nurse  for 
her  after — what  happened  in  Orchid  Lodge." 

Tressa  looked  miserably  at  Recklow, — dumbly, 
for  a  moment.  Then  her  lips  unclosed. 


168  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"I  saw  Prince  Sanang,"  she  repeated.  "He  was 
near  the  sea.  There  were  rocks — cottages  on  cliffs 
— and  very  brilliant  flowers  in  tiny,  pocket-like  gar- 
dens. 

"Sanang  was  walking  on  the  cliffs  with  another 
man.  There  were  forests,  inland." 

"Do  you  know  who  the  other  man  was?"  asked 
Recklow  gently. 

"Yes.  He  was  one  of  the  Eight.  I  recognised 
him.  When  I  was  a  girl  he  came  once  to  the  Temple 
of  Yian,  all  alone,  and  spread  his  shroud  on  the  pink 
marble  steps.  And  we  temple  girls  mocked  him  and 
threw  stemless  roses  on  the  shroud,  telling  him  they 
were  human  heads  with  which  to  grease  his  toug." 

She  became  excited  and  sat  up  straighter  in  her 
chair,  and  her  strange  little  laughter  rippled  like  a 
rill  among  pebbles. 

"I  threw  a  big  rose  without  a  stem  upon  the 
shroud,"  she  exclaimed,  "and  I  cried  out,  'Niaz!' 
which  means,  'Courage,'  and  I  mocked  him,  saying, 
'Djamouk  Khagan,'  when  he  was  only  a  Khan,  of 
course ;  and  I  laughed  and  rubbed  one  finger  against 
the  other,  crying  out,  'Toug  ia  glachakho!'  which 
means,  'The  toug  is  anointed.'  And  which  was 
very  impudent  of  me,  because  Djamouk  was  a  Sheik- 
el-Djebel  and  Khan  of  the  Fifth  Tower,  and  entitled 
to  a  toug  and  to  eight  men  and  a  Toughtchi.  And  it 
is  a  grave  offence  to  mock  at  the  anointing  of  a 
toug." 

She  paused,  breathless,  her  splendid  azure  eyes 
sparkling  with  the  memory  of  that  girlish  mischief. 


AT  THE  RITZ  169 

Then  their  brilliancy  faded;  she  bit  her  lip  and  stole 
an  uncertain  glance  at  her  husband. 

And  after  a  pause  she  explained  in  a  very  sub- 
dued voice  that  the  "lagla  michi,"  or  action  of 
"greasing  the  toug,"  or  standard,  was  done  when  a 
severed  human  head  taken  in  battle  was  cast  at  the 
foot  of  the  lance  shaft  stuck  upright  in  the  ground. 

"You  see,"  she  said  sadly,  "we  temple  girls,  being 
already  damned,  cared  little  what  we  said,  even  to 
such  a  terrible  man  as  Djamouk  Khan.  And  even 
had  the  ghost  of  old  Tchinguiz  Khagan  himself 
comedo  the  temple  and  looked  at  us  out  of  his  tawny 
eyes,  I  think  we  might  have  done  something  saucy." 

Tressa's  pretty  face  was  spiritless,  now;  she 
leaned  back  in  her  armchair  and  they  heard  an  un- 
conscious sigh  escape  her. 

"Ai-ya !  Ai-ya  I"  she  murmured  to  herself,  "what 
crazy  things  we  did  on  the  rose-marble  steps,  Yulun 
and  I,  so  long — so  long  ago." 

Cleves  got  up  and  went  over  to  stand  beside  his 
wife's  chair. 

"What  happened  is  this,"  he  said  heavily.  "Dur- 
ing my  wife's  convalescence  after  that  Yarghouz  af- 
fair, she  found  herself,  at  a  certain  moment,  clair- 
voyant. And  she  thought  she  saw — she  did  see — 
Sanang,  and  an  Asiatic  she  recognised  as  being  one 
of  the  chiefs  of  the  Assassins  sect,  whose  name  is 
Djamouk. 

"But,  except  that  it  was  somewhere  near  the  sea 
— some  summer  colony  probably  on  the  Atlantic 
coast — she  does  not  know  where  this  pair  of  jail- 


170  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

birds  roost.  And  this  is  what  we  have  come  here  to 
report." 

Benton,  politely  appalled,  tried  not  to  look  in- 
credulous. But  it  was  evident  that  Selden  and  Reck- 
low  had  no  doubts. 

"Of  course,"  said  Recklow  calmly,  "the  thing  to 
do  is  for  you  and  your  wife  to  try  to  find  this  place 
she  saw." 

"Make  a  tour  of  all  such  ocean-side  resorts  until 
Mrs.  Cleves  recognises  the  place  she  saw,"  added 
Selden.  And  to  Recklow  he  added:  "I  believe  there 
are  several  perfectly  genuine  cases  on  record  where 
clairvoyants  have  aided  the  police." 

"Several  authentic  cases,"  said  Recklow  quietly. 
But  Benton' s  face  was  a  study. 

Tressa  looked  up  at  her  husband.  He  dropped 
his  hand  reassuringly  on  her  shoulder  and  nodded 
with  a  slight  smile. 

"There — there  was  something  else,"  she  said  with 
considerable  hesitation — "something  not  quite  in 
line  of  duty — perhaps " 

"It  seems  to  concern  Benton,"  added  Cleves, 
smiling. 

"What  is  it?"  inquired  Selden,  smiling  also  as 
Benton's  features  froze  to  a  mask. 

"Let  me  tell  you,  first,"  interrupted  Cleves,  "that 
my  wife's  psychic  ability  and  skill  can  make  me 
visualise  and  actually  see  scenes  and  people  which, 
God  knows,  I  never  before  laid  eyes  upon,  but  which 
she  has  both  seen  and  known. 

"And  one  morning,  in  Florida,  I  asked  her  to  do 


AT  THE  RITZ  171 

something  strange — something  of  that  sort  to  amuse 
me — and  we  were  sitting  on  the  steps  of  our  cottage 
— you  know,  the  old  club-house  at  Orchid  I — and  the 
first  I  knew  I  saw,  in  the  mist  on  the  St.  Johns,  a 
Chinese  bridge  humped  up  over  that  very  common- 
place stream,  and  thousands  of  people  passing  over* 
it, — and  a  city  beyond — the  town  of  Yian,  Tressa 
tells  me, — and  I  heard  the  Buddhist  bells  and  the  big 
temple  gong  and  the  noises  in  streets  and  on  the 
water " 

He  was  becoming  considerably  excited  at  the  mem- 
ory, and  his  lean  face  reddened  and  he  gesticulated 
as  he  spoke : 

"It  was  astounding,  Recklow!  There  was  that 
bridge,  and  all  those  people  moving  over  it;  and  the 
city  beyond,  and  the  boats  and  shipping,  and  the 
vast  murmur  of  multitudes.  .  .  .  And  then,  there 
on  the  bridge  crossing  toward  Yian,  I  saw  a  young 
girl,  who  turned  and  looked  back  at  my  wife  and 
laughed." 

"And  I  told  him  it  was  Yulun,"  said  Tressa, 
simply. 

"A  playfellow  of  my  wife's  in  Yian,"  explained 
Cleves.  "But  if  she  were  really  Chinese  she  didn't 
look  like  what  are  my  own  notions  of  a  Chinese 
girl." 

"Yulun  came  from  Black  China,"  said  Mrs. 
Cleves.  "I  taught  her  English.  I  loved  her  dearly. 
I  was  her  most  intimate  friend  in  Yian." 

There  ensued  a  silence,  broken  presently  by  Ben- 
ton;  and: 


172  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"Where  do  I  appear  in  this?"  he  asked  stiffly. 

Tressa's  smile  was  odd;  she  looked  at  Selden  and 
said: 

"When  I  was  convalescent  I  was  lonely.  ...  I 
made  the  effort  one  evening.  And  I  found  Yulun. 
And  again  she  was  on  a  bridge.  But  she  was  dressed 
as  I  am.  And  the  bridge  was  one  of 'those  great, 
horrible  steel  monsters  that  sprawl  across  the  East 
River.  And  I  was  astonished,  and  I  said,  'Yulun, 
darling,  are  you  really  here  in  America  and  in  New 
York,  or  has  a  demon  tangled  the  threads  of  thought 
to  mock  my  mind  in  illness?' 

"Then  Yulun  looked  very  sorrowfully  at  me  and 
wrote  in  Arabic  characters,  in  the  air,  the  name  of 
our  enemy  who  once  came  to  the  Lake  of  Ghosts  for 
love  of  her — Yaddin-ed-Din,  Tougtchi  to  Djamouk 
the  Fox.  .  .  .  And  who  went  his  way  again  amid 
our  scornful  laughter.  .  .  .  He  is  a  demon.  And 
he  was  tangling  my  thread  of  thought!" 

Tressa  btecame  exceedingly  animated  once  more. 
She  rose  and  came  swiftly  to  where  Benton  was 
standing. 

"And  what  do  you  think!"  she  said  eagerly.  "I 
said  to  her,  'Yulun!  Yulun!  Will  you  make  the 
effort  and  come  to  me  if  I  make  the  effort?  Will 
you  come  to  me,  beloved?'  And  Yulun  made  'Yes,' 
with  her  lips." 

After  a  silence:  "But — where  do  I  come  in?"  in- 
quired Benton,  stiffly  fearful  of  such  matters. 

"You  came  in." 

"I  don't  understand." 


AT  THE  RITZ  173 

"You  came  in  the  door  while  Yulun  and  I  were 
talking." 

"When?" 

"When  you  came  to  see  me  after  I  was  better, 
and  you  and  Mr.  Selden  were  going  North  with 
Mr.  Recklow.  Don't  you  remember;  I  was  lying  in 
the  hammock  in  the  moonlight,  and  Victor  told  you 
I  was  asleep?" 

"Yes,  of  course " 

"I  was  not  asleep.  I  had  made  the  effort  and  I 
was  with  Yulun.  ...  I  did  not  know  you  were 
standing  beside  my  hammock  in  the  moonlight  until 
Yulun  told  me.  .  .  .  And  that  is  what  I  am  to  tell 
you;  Yulun  saw  you.  .  .  .  And  Yulun  has  written 
it  in  Chinese,  in  Eighur  characters  and  in  Arabic, — 
tracing  them  with  her  forefinger  in  the  air — that 
Yulun,  loveliest  in  Yian,  flame-slender  and  very 
white,  has  seen  her  heart,  like  a  pink  pearl  afire, 
burning  between  your  august  hands." 

"My  hands !"  exclaimed  Benton,  very  red. 

There  fell  an  odd  silence.     Nobody  laughed. 

Tressa  came  nearer  to  Benton,  wistful,  uncertain, 
shy. 

"Would  you  care  to  see  Yulun?"  she  asked. 

"Well— no,"  he  said,  startled.  "I— I  shall  not 
deny  that  such  things  worry  me  a  lot,  Mrs.  Cleves. 
I'm  a — an  Episcopalian." 

The  tension  released,  Selden  was  the  first  to  laugh. 

"There's  no  use  blinking  the  truth,"  he  said; 
"we're  up  against  something  absolutely  new.  Of 
course,  it  isn't  magic.  It  can,  of  course,  be  ex- 


174.  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

plained  by  natural  laws  about  which  we  happen  to 
know  nothing  at  present." 

Recklow  nodded.  "What  do  we  know  about  the 
human  mind?  It  has  been  proven  that  no  thought 
can  originate  within  that  mass  of  convoluted  physical 
matter  called  the  brain.  It  has  been  proven  that 
something  outside  the  brain  originates  thought  and 
uses  the  brain  as  a  vehicle  to  incubate  it.  What  do 
we  know  about  thought?" 

Selden,  much  interested,  sat  cogitating  and  looking 
at  Mrs.  Cleves.  But  Benton,  still  flushed  and  evi- 
dently nervous,  sat  staring  out  of  the  window  at  the 
full  moon,  and  twisting  an  unlighted  cigarette  to 
shreds. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  Benton  when  the  thing  oc- 
curred down  there  at  Orchid  Lodge,  the  night  we 
called  to  say  good-bye?"  asked  Selden,  curiously. 

Tressa  gave  him  a  distressed  smile :  C1  was  afraid 
he  wouldn't  believe  me.  And  I  was  afraid  that  you 
and  Mr.  Recklow,  even  if  you  believed  it,  might 
not  like — like  me  any  the  better  for — for  being 
clairvoyant." 

Recklow  came  over,  bent  his  handsome  grey  head, 
and  kissed  her  hand. 

"I  never  liked  any  woman  better,  nor  respected 
any  woman  as  deeply,"  he  said.  And,  lifting  his 
head,  he  saw  tears  sparkling  in  her  eyes. 

"My  dear,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  and  his  firm 
hand  closed  over  the  slim  fingers  he  had  kissed. 

Benton  got  up  from  his  chair,  went  to  the  window, 
turned  shortly  and  came  over  to  Tressa. 


AT  THE  RITZ  175 

'Tou're  braver  than  I  ever  could  learn  to  be,"  he 
said  shortly.,  "I  ask  your  pardon  if  I  seem  sceptical. 
I'm  more  worried  than  incredulous.  There's  some- 
thing born  in  me — part  of  me — that  shrinks  from 
anything  that  upsets  my  orthodox  belief  in  the  future 
life.  But — if  you  wish  me  to  see  this — this  girl — 
Yulun — it's  quite  all  right." 

She  said  softly,  and  with  gentle  wonder:  "I  know 
of  nothing  that  could  upset  your  belief,  Mr.  Benton. 
There  is  only  one  God.  And  if  Mahomet  be  His 
prophet,  or  if  he  be  Lord  Buddha,  or  if  your  Lord 
Christ  be  vice-regent  to  the  Most  High,  I  do  not 
know.  All  I  know  is  that  God  is  God,  and  that  He 
prevailed  over  Satan  who  was  stoned.  And  that  in 
Paradise  is  eternal  life,  and  in  hell  demons  hide 
where  dwells  Erlik,  Prince  of  Darkness." 

Benton,  silent  and  secretly  aghast  at  her  theology, 
said  nothing.  Recklow  pleasantly  but  seriously  de- 
nied that  Satan  and  his  demons  were  actual  and  con- 
crete creatures. 

Again  Cleves's  hand  fell  lightly  on  his  wife's 
shoulder,  in  a  careless  gesture  of  reassurance.  And, 
to  Benton,  "No  soul  is  ever  lost,"  he  said,  calmly. 
"I  don't  exactly  know  how  that  agrees  with  your  or- 
thodoxy, Benton.  But  it  is  surely  so." 

"I  don't  know  myself,"  said  Benton.  "I  hope  it's 
so."  He  looked  at  Tressa  a  moment  and  then  blurted 
out:  "Anyway,  if  ever  there  was  a  soul  in  God's 
keeping  and  guarded  by  His  angels,  it's  your  wife's  1" 

"That  also  is  true,"  said  Cleves  quietly. 

"By   the    way,"    remarked    Recklow    carelessly, 


176  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"I've  arranged  to  have  you  stop  at  the  Ritz  while 
you're  in  town,  Mrs.  Cleves.  You  and  your  IniS- 
band  are  to  occupy  the  apartment  adjoining  this. 
Where  is  your  luggage,  Victor?" 

"In  our  apartment." 

"That  won't  do,"  said  Recklow  decisively.  "Tel- 
ephone for  it." 

Cleves  went  to  the  telephone,  but  Recklow  took 
the  instrument  out  of  his  hand  and  called  the  number. 
The  voice  of  one  of  his  own  agents  answered. 

Cleves  was  standing  alone  by  the  open  window 
when  Recklow  hung  up  the  telephone.  Tressa,  on 
the  sofa,  had  been  whispering  with  Benton.  Selden, 
looking  over  the  evening  paper  by  the  rose-shaded 
lamp,  glanced  up  as  Recklow  went  over  to  Cleves. 

"Victor,"  he  said,  "your  man  has  been  murdered. 
His  throat  was  cut;  his  head  was  severed  completely. 
Your  luggage  has  been  ransacked  and  so  has  your 
apartment.  Three  of  my  men  are  in  possession,  and 
the  local  police  seem  to  comprehend  the  necessity  of 
keeping  the  matter  out  of  the  newspapers.  What 
was  in  your  baggage?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Cleves,  ghastly  pale. 

"All  right.  We'll  have  your  effects  packed  up 
again  and  brought  over  here.  Are  you  going  to  tell 
your  wife?" 

Cleves,  still  deathly  pale,  cast  a  swift  glance  to- 
ward her.  She  sat  on  the  sofa  in  animated  conver- 
sation with  Benton.  She  laughed  once,  and  Benton 
smiled  at  what  she  was  saying. 

"Is  there  any  need  to  tell  her,  Recklow?" 


AT  THE  RITZ  177 

"Not  for  a  while,  anyway." 

"All  right.  I  suppose  the  Yezidees  are  respon- 
sible for  this  horrible  business." 

"Certainly.  Your  poor  servant's  head  lay  at  the 
foot  of  a  curtain-pole  which  had  been  placed  upright 
between  two  chairs.  On  the  pole  were  tied  three 
tufts  of  hair  from  the  dead  man's  head.  The  pole 
had  been  rubbed  with  blood." 

"That's  Mongol  custom,"  muttered  Cleves.  "They 
made  a  toug  and  'greased'  it! — the  murderous 
devils !" 

"They  did  more.  They  left  at  the  foot  of  your 
bed  and  at  the  foot  of  your  wife's  bed  two  white 
sheets.  And  a  knife  lay  in  the  centre  of  each  sheet. 
That,  of  course,  is  the  symbol  of  the  Sect  of  Assas- 
sins." 

Cleves  nodded.  His  body,  as  he  leaned  there  on 
the  window  sill  in  the  moonlight,  trembled.  But  his 
face  had  grown  dark  with  rage. 

"If  I  could — could  only  get  my  hands  on  one  of 
them,"  he  whispered  hoarsely. 

"Be  careful.  Don't  wear  a  face  like  that.  Your 
wife  is  looking  at  us,"  murmured  Recklow. 

With  an  effort  Cleves  raised  his  head  and  smiled 
across  the  room  at  his  wife. 

"Our  luggage  will  be  sent  over  shortly,"  he  said. 
"If  you're  tired,  we'll  say  good-night." 

So  she  rose  and  the  three  men  came  to  make  their 
adieux  and  pay  their  compliments  and  devoirs.  Then, 
with  a  smile  that  seemed  almost  happy,  she  went 
into  her  own  apartment  on  her  husband's  arm. 


178  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

Cleves  and  his  wife  had  connecting  bedrooms  and 
a  sitting-room  between.  Here  they  paused  for  a  mo- 
ment before  the  always  formal  ceremony  of  leave- 
taking  at  night.  There  were  roses  on  the  centre 
table.  Tressa  dropped  one  hand  on  the  table  and 
bent  over  the  flowers. 

"They  seem  so  friendly,"  she  said  under  her 
breath. 

He  thought  she  meant  that  she  found  even  in 
flowers  a  refuge  from  the  solitude  of  a  loveless  mar- 
riage. 

He  said  quietly:  "I  think  you  will  find  the  world 
very  friendly,  if  you  wish.n  But  she  shook  her  head, 
looking  at  the  roses. 

Finally  he  said  good-night  and  she  extended  her 
hand,  and  he  took  it  formally. 

Then  their  hands  fell  away.  Tressa  turned  and 
went  toward  her  bedroom.  At  the  door  she  stopped, 
turned  slowly. 

"What  shall  I  do  about  Yulun?"  she  asked. 

"What  is  there  to  do  ?    Yulun  is  in  China." 

"Yes,  her  body  is." 

"Do  you  mean  that  the  rest  of  her — whatever  it 
is — could  come  here?" 

"Why,  of  course." 

"So  that  Benton  could  see  her?" 

"Yes." 

"Could  he  see  her  just  as  she  is?  Her  face  and 
figure — clothes  and  everything?" 

"Yes." 


AT  THE  RITZ  179 

"Would  she  seem  real  or  like  a  ghost — spirit — 
whatever  you  choose  to  call  such  things?" 

Tressa  smiled.  "She'd  be  exactly  as  real  as  you 
or  I,  Victor.  She'd  seem  like  anybody  else." 

"That's  astonishing,"  he  muttered.  "Could  Ben- 
ton  hear  her  speak?" 

"Certainly." 

"Talk  to  her?" 

Tressa  laughed:  "Of  course.  If  Yulun  should 
make  the  effort  she  could  leave  her  body  as  easily 
as  she  undresses  herself.  It  is  no  more  difficult  to 
divest  one's  self  of  one's  body  than  it  is  to  put  off 
one  garment  and  put  on  another.  .  .  .  And,  some- 
how, I  think  Yulun  will  do  it  to-night." 

"Come  hercT' 

"It  would  be  like  her."  Tressa  laughed.  "Isn't 
it  odd  that  she  should  have  become  ro  enamoured  of 
Mr.  Benton — just  seeing  him  there  in  the  moonlight 
that  night  at  Orchid  Lodge?" 

For  a  moment  the  smile  curved  her  lips,  then  the 
shadow  fell  again  across  her  eyes,  veiling  them  in 
that  strange  and  lovely  way  which  Cleves  knew  so 
well;  and  he  looked  into  her  impenetrable  eyes  in 
troubled  silence. 

"Victor,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "were  you  afraid 
to  tell  me  that  your  man  had  been  murdered?" 

After  a  moment:  "You  always  know  everything," 
he  said  unsteadily.  "When  did  you  learn  it?" 

"Just  before  Mr.  Recklow  told  you." 

"How  did  you  learn  it,  Tressa?" 

"I  looked  into  our  apartment." 


180  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"When?" 

"While  you  were  telephoning." 

"You  mean  you  looked  into  our  rooms  from 
here?' 

"Yes,  clairvoyantly." 

"What  did  you  see?" 

"The  laglamichi!"  she  said  with  a  shudder.  "Kail 
The  Toug  of  Djamouk  is  anointed  at  last!" 

"Is  that  the  beast  of  a  Mongol  who  did  this 
murder  ?" 

"Djamouk  and  Prince  Sanang  planned  it,"  she 
said,  trembling  a  little.  "But  that  butchery  was 
Yaddin's  work,  I  think.  Kai !  The  work  of  Yaddin- 
ed-Din,  Tougtchi  to  Djamouk  the  Fox!" 

They  stood  confronting  each  other,  the  length  of 
the  sitting-room  between  them.  And  after  the  silence 
had  lasted  a  full  minute  Cleves  reddened  and  said: 
"I  am  going  to  sleep  on  the  couch  at  the  foot  of 
your  bed,  Tressa." 

His  young  wife  reddened  too. 

He  said:  "This  affair  has  thoroughly  scared  me. 
I  can't  let  you  sleep  out  of  my  sight." 

"I  am  quite  safe.  And  you  would  have  an  un- 
comfortable night,"  she  murmured. 

"Do  you  mind  if  I  sleep  on  the  couch,  Tressa?" 

"No." 

"Will  you  call  me  when  you  are  ready?" 

"Yes." 

She  went  into  her  bedroom  and  closed  the  door. 

When  he  was  ready  he  slipped  a  pistol  into  the 
pocket  of  his  dressing-gown,  belted  it  over  his  py- 


AT  THE  RITZ  181 

jamas,  and  walked  into  the  sitting-room.  His  wife 
called  him  presently,  and  he  went  in.  Her  night- 
lamp  was  burning  and  she  extended  her  hand  to  ex- 
tinguish it. 

"Could  you  sleep  if  it  burns?"  he  asked  bluntly. 

"Yes." 

"Then  let  it  burn.  This  business  has  got  on  my 
nerves,"  he  muttered. 

They  looked  at  each  other  in  an  expressionless 
way.  Both  really  understood  how  useless  was  this 
symbol  of  protection — this  man  the  girl  called  hus- 
band;— how  utterly  useless  his  physical  strength, 
and  the  pistol  sagging  in  the  pocket  of  his  dressing- 
gown.  Both  understood  that  the  only  real  projection 
to  be  looked  for  must  come  from  her — from  the 
gifted  and  guardian  mind  of  this  young  girl  who  lay 
there  looking  at  him  from  the  pillows. 

"Good-night,"  he  said,  flushing;  "I'll  do  my  best. 
But  only  one  of  God's  envoys,  like  you,  knows  how 
to  do  battle  with  things  that  come  out  of  hell." 

After  a  moment's  silence  she  said  in  a  colourless 
voice :  "I  wish  you'd  lie  down  on  the  bed." 

"Had  you  rather  I  did?" 

"Yes." 

So  he  went  slowly  to  the  bed,  placed  his  pistol 
under  the  pillow,  drew  his  dressing-gown  around 
him,  and  lay  down. 

After  he  had  lain  unstirring  for  half  an  hour: 
"Try  to  sleep,  Tressa,"  he  said,  without  turning  his 
head. 


182  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"Can't  you  seem  to  sleep,  Victor?"  she  asked. 
And  he  heard  her  turn  her  head. 

"No." 

"Shall  I  help  you?" 

"Do  you  mean  use  hypnosis — the  power  of  sug- 
gestion— on  me?" 

"No.  I  can  help  you  to  sleep  very  gently.  I 
can  make  you  very  drowsy.  .  .  .  You  are  drowsy 
now.  .  .  .  You  are  very  close  to  the  edge  of  sleep. 
.  .  .  Sleep,  dear.  .  .  .  Sleep,  easily,  naturally,  con- 
fidently as  a  tired  boy.  .  .  .  You  are  sleeping,  .  .  . 
deeply  .  .  .  sweetly  .  .  .  my  dear  .  .  .  my  dear, 
dear  husband." 


CHAPTER  XI 

YULUN  THE  BELOVED 

CLEVES  opened  his  eyes.  He  was  lying  on  his 
left  side.  In  the  pink  glow  of  the  night-lamp 
he  saw  his  wife  in  her  night-dress,  seated  side- 
ways on  the  farther  edge  of  the  bed,  talking  to  a 
young  girl. 

The  strange  girl  wore  what  appeared  to  be  a 
chamber-robe  of  frail  gold  tissue  that  clung  to  her 
body  and  glittered  as  she  moved.  He  had  never 
before  seen  such  a  dress;  but  he  had  seen  the  girl; 
he  recognised  her  instantly  as  the  girl  he  had  seen 
turn  to  look  back  at  Tressa  as  she  crossed  the  phan- 
tom bridge  over  that  misty  Florida  river.  And 
Clever  Comprehended  that  he  was  looking  at  Yulun. 

But  this  charming  young  thing  was  no  ghost,  no 
astral  projection.  This  girl  was  warm,  living,  breath- 
ing flesh.  The  delicate  scent  of  her  strange  gar- 
ments and  of  her  hair,  her  very  breath,  was  in  the 
air  of  the  room.  Her  half-hushed  but  laughing  voice 
was  deliciously  human;  her  delicate  little  hands,  ca- 
ressing Tressa's,  were  too  eagerly  real  to  doubt. 

Both  talked  at  the  same  time,  their  animated 
voices  mingling  in  the  breathless  delight  of  the  re- 
union. Their  exclamations,  enchanting  laughter, 
183 


184  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

bubbling  chatter,  filled  his  ears.  But  not  one  word 
of  what  they  were  saying  to  each  other  could  he 
understand. 

Suddenly  Tressa  looked  over  her  shoulder  and 
met  his  astonished  eyes. 

"Tokhta!"  she  exclaimed.  "Yulun!  My  lord 
is  awake  I" 

Yulun  swung  around  swiftly  on  the  edge  of  the 
bed  and  looked  laughingly  at  Cleves.  But  when 
her  red  lips  unclosed  she  spoke  to  Tressa:  and, 
"Darling,"  she  said  in  English,  "I  think  your  dear 
lord  remembers  that  he  saw  me  on  the  Bridge  of 
Dreams.  And  heard  the  bells  of  Yian  across  the 
mist." 

Tressa  said,  laughing  at  her  husband:  "This  is 
Yulun,  flame-slender,  very  white,  loveliest  in  Yian. 
On  the  rose-marble  steps  of  the  Yezidee  Temple  she 
flung  a  stemless  rose  upon  Djamouk's  shroud,  where 
he  had  spread  it  like  a  patch  of  snow  in  the  sun. 

"And  at  the  Lake  of  the  Ghosts,  where  there  is 
freedom  to  love,  for  those  who  desire  love,,  came 
Yaddin,  Tougtchi  to  Djamouk  the  Fox,  in  search  of 
love — and  Yulun,  flame-slim,  and  flower-white.  .  .  . 
Tell  my  dear  lord,  Yulun  I" 

Yulun  laughed  at  Cleves  out  of  her  dark  eyes  that 
slanted  charmingly  at  the  corners. 

"Kail"  she  cried  softly,  clapping  her  palms.  "I 
took  his  roses  and  tore  them  with  my  hands  till  their 
petals  rained  on  him  and  their  golden  hearts  were 
a  powdery  cloud  floating  across  the  water. 

"I   said:   'Even  the   damned  do  not  mate  with 


YULUN  THE  BELOVED  185 

demons,  my  Tougtchi !  So  go  to  the  devil,  my  Ban- 
neret, and  may  Erlik  seize  you!'  " 

Cleves,  his  ears  ringing  with  the  sweet  confusion 
of  their  girlish  laughter,  rose  from  his  pillow,  sup- 
porting himself  on  one  arm. 

"You  are  Yulun.  You  are  alive  and  real " 

He  looked  at  Tressa :  "She  is  real,  isn't  she?"  And, 
to  Yulun:  "Where  do  you  come  from?" 

The  girl  replied  seriously:  "I  come  from  Yian." 
She  turned  to  Tressa  with  a  dazzling  smile :  "Thou 
knowest,  my  heart's  gold,  how  it  was  I  came.  Tell 
thy  dear  lord  in  thine  own  way,  so  that  it  shall  be 
simple  for  his  understanding.  .  .  .  And  now — be- 
cause my  visit  is  ending — I  think  thy  dear  lord  should 
sleep.  Bid  him  sleep,  my  heart's  goldl" 

At  that  calm  suggestion  Cleves  sat  upright  on  the 
bed, — or  attempted  to.  But  sank  back  gently  on  his 
pillow  and  met  there  a  dark,  delicious  rush  of  drow- 
siness. 

He  made  an  effort — or  tried  to :  the  smooth,  sweet 
tide  of  sleep  swept  over  him  to  the  eyelids,  leaving 
him  still  and  breathing  evenly  on  his  pillow. 

The  two  girls  leaned  over  and  looked  down  at 
him. 

"Thy  dear  lord,"  murmured  Yulun.  "Does  he 
love  thee,  rosebud  of  Yian?" 

"No,"  said  Tressa,  under  her  breath. 

"Does  he  know  thou  art  damned,  heart  of  gold?" 

"He  says  no  soul  is  ever  really  harmed,"  whis- 
pered Tressa. 


186  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"Kail  Has  he  never  heard  of  the  Slayer  of 
Souls?"  exclaimed  Yulun  incredulously. 

"My  lord  maintains  that  neither  the  Assassin  of 
Khorassan  nor  the  Sheiks-el-Djebel  of  the  Eight 
Towers,  nor  their  dark  prince  Erlik,  can  have  power 
over  God  to  slay  the  human  soul." 

"Tokhta,  Rose  of  Yianl  Our  souls  were  slain 
there  in  the  Yezfdee  temple." 

Tressa  looked  down  at  Cleves: 

"My  dear  lord  says  no,"  she  said  under  her 
breath. 

"And— Sanang?" 

Tressa  paled:  "His  mind  and  mine  did  battle.  I 
tore  my  heart  from  his  grasp.  I  have  laid  it,  bleed- 
ing, at  my  dear  lord's  feet.  Let  God  judge  between 
us,  Yulun." 

"There  was  a  day,"  whispered  Yulun,  "when 
Prince  Sanang  went  to  the  Lake  of  the  Ghosts." 

Tressa,  very  pallid,  looked  down  at  her  sleeping 
husband.  She  said: 

"Prince  Sanang  came  to  the  Lake  of  the  Ghosts. 
The  snow  of  the  cherry-trees  covered  the  young 
world. 

"The  water  was  clear  as  sunlight;  and  the  lake 
was  afire  with  scarlet  carp  .  .  .  Yulun — beloved 
— the  nightingale  sang  all  night  long — all  night  long 
.  .  .  Then  I  saw  Sanang  shining,  all  gold,  in  the 
moonlight  .  .  .  May  God  remember  him  in  hell!" 

"May  God  remember  him." 

"Sanang  Noi'ane.  May  he  be  accursed  in  the 
Namaz  Gal" 


YULUN  THE  BELOVED  187 

"May  he  be  tormented  in  Jehaunum! — Sanang, 
Slayer  of  Souls." 

Tressa  leaned  forward  on  the  bed,  stretched  her- 
self out,  and  laid  her  face  gently  across  her  hus- 
band's feet,  touching  them  with  her  lips. 

Then  she  straightened  herself  and  sat  up,  sup- 
ported by  one  hand,  and  looking  silently  down  at  the 
sleeping  man. 

"No  soul  shall  die,"  she  said.    "Niaz!" 

"Is  it  written?"  asked  Yulun,  surprised. 

"My  lord  has  said  it." 

"Allahou  Ekber,"  murmured  Yulun;  "thy  lord 
is  only  a  man." 

Tressa  said:  "Neither  the  Tekbir  nor  the  fatha, 
nor  the  warning  of  Khidr,  nor  the  Yacaz  of  the 
Khagan,  nor  even  the  prayers  of  the  Ten  Imaums 
are  of  any  value  to  me  unless  my  dear  lord  confirms 
the  truth  of  them  with  his  own  lips." 

"AndErlik?    Is  he  nothing,  then?" 

"Erlik!"  repeated  Tressa  insolently.  "Who  is 
Erlik  but  the  servant  of  Satan  who  was  stoned?" 

Her  beautiful,  angry  lips  were  suddenly  distorted; 
her  blue  eyes  blazed.  Then  she  spat,  her  mouth  still 
tremulous  with  hatred.  She  said  in  a  voice  shaking 
with  rage: 

"Yulun,  beloved!  Listen  attentively.  I  have  slain 
two  of  the  Slayers  of  the  Eight  Towers.  With  God's 
help  I  shall  slay  them  all — all! — Djamouk,  Yaddin, 
Arrak  Sou-Sou — all! — every  one! — Tiyang  Khan, 
Togrul, — all  shall  I  slay,  even  to  the  last  one  among 
them!" 


188  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"Sanang,  also?" 

"I  leave  him  to  God.  It  is  a  fearful  thing  to  fall 
into  the  hands  of  the  living  God!" 

Yulun  calmly  paraphrased  the  cant  phrase  of  the 
Assassins:  "For  it  is  written  that  we  belong  to  God 
and  we  return  to  Him.  Heart  of  gold,  I  shall  exe- 
cute my  dutyl" 

Then  Yulun  slipped  from  the  edge  of  the  bed  to 
the  floor,  and  stood  there  looking  oddly  at  Tressa, 
her  eyes  rain-bright  as  though  choking  back  tears — 
or  laughter. 

"Heart  of  a  rose,"  she  said  in  a  suppressed  voice, 
"my  time  is  nearly  ended.  ...  So.  ...  I  go  to  the 
chamber  of  this  strange  young  man  who  holds  my 
soul  like  a  pearl  afire  between  his  hapds.  ...  I 
think  it  it  written  that  I  shall  love  him." 

Tressa  rose  also  and  placed  her  lips  close  to 
Yulun's  ear:  "His  name,  beloved,  is  Benton.  His 
room  is  on  this  floor.  Shall  we  make  the  effort  to- 
gether?" 

"Yes,"  said  Yulun.  "Lay  your  body  down  upon 
the  bed  beside  your  lord  who  sleeps  so  deeply.  .  .  . 
And  now  stretch  out.  .  .  .  And  fold  both  hands. 
.  .  .  And  now  put  off  thy  body  like  a  silken  garment. 
.  .  .  So!  And  leave  it  there  beside  thy  lord, 
asleep." 

They  stood  together  for  a  moment,  shining  like 
dewy  shapes  of  tall  flowers,  whispering  and  laughing 
together  in  the  soft  glow  of  the  night  lamp. 

Cleves  slept  on,  unstirring.     There  was  the  white 


YULUN  THE  BELOVED  189 

and  sleeping  figure  of  his  wife  lying  on  the  bed  be- 
side him. 

But  Tressa  and  Yulun  were  already  melting  away 
between  the  wall  and  the  confused  rosy  radiance  of 
the  lamp. 

Benton,  in  night  attire  and  chamber-robe  belted  in, 
fresh  from  his  bath  and  still  drying  his  curly  hair 
on  a  rough  towel,  wandered  back  into  his  bedroom. 

When  his  short,  bright  hair  was  dry,  he  lighted  a 
cigarette,  took  the  automatic  from  his  dresser,  exam- 
ined the  clip,  and  shoved  it  under  his  pillow. 

Then  he  picked  up  the  little  leather-bound  Testa- 
ment, seated  himself,  and  opened  it.  And  read 
tranquilly  while  his  cigarette  burned. 

When  he  was  ready  he  turned  out  the  ceiling  light, 
leaving  only  the  night  lamp  lighted.  Then  he  knelt 
beside  his  bed, — a  custom  surviving  the  nursery 
period, — and  rested  his  forehead  against  his  folded 
hands. 

Then,  as  he  prayed,  something  snapped  the  thread 
of  prayer  as  though  somebody  had  spoken  aloud  in 
the  still  room;  and,  like  one  who  has  been  suddenly 
interrupted,  he  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  around 
and  upward. 

The  silent  shock  of  her  presence  passed  presently. 
He  got  up  from  his  knees,  looking  at  her  all  the 
while. 

"You  are  Yulun,"  he  said  very  calmly. 

The  girl  flushed  brightly  and  rested  one  hand  on 
the  foot  of  the  bed. 

"Do  you  remember  in  the  moonlight  where  you 


190  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

walked  along  the  hedge  of  white  hibiscus  and  olean- 
der— that  night  you  said  good-bye  to  Tressa  in  the 
South?" 

"Yes." 

"Twice,"  she  said,  laughing,  "you  stopped  to  peer 
at  the  blossoms  in  the  moonlight." 

"I  thought  I  saw  a  face  among  them." 

"You  were  not  sure  whether  it  was  flowers  or  a 
girl's  face  looking  at  you  from  the  blossoming  hedge 
of  white  hibiscus,"  said  Yulun. 

"I  know  now,"  he  said  in  an  odd,  still  voice,  unlike 
his  own. 

"Yes,  it  was  I,"  she  murmured.  And  of  a  sudden 
the  girl  dropped  to  her  knees  without  a  sound  and 
laid  her  head  on  the  velvet  carpet  at  his  feet. 

So  swiftly,  noiselessly  was  it  done  that  he  had 
not  comprehended — had  not  moved — when  she  sat 
upright,  resting  on  her  knees,  and  grasped  the  collar 
of  her  tunic  with  both  gemmed  hands. 

"Have  pity  on  me,  lord  of  my  lost  soul !"  she  cried 
softly. 

Benton  stooped  in  a  dazed  way  to  lift  the  girl;  but 
found  himself  knee  deep  in  a  snowy  drift  of  white 
hibiscus  blossoms — touched  nothing  but  silken  petals 
— waded  in  them  as  he  stepped  forward.  And  saw 
her  standing  before  him  still  grasping  the  collar  of 
her  golden  tunic. 

A  great  white  drift  of  bloom  lay  almost  waist 
deep  between  them ;  the  fragrance  of  oleander,  too, 
was  heavy  in  the  room. 

"There  are  years  of  life  before  the  flaming  gates 


YULUN  THE  BELOVED  191 

of  Jehaunum  open.  And  I  am  very  young,"  said 
Yulun  wistfully. 

Somebody  else  laughed  in  the  room.  Turning  his 
head,  he  saw  Tressa  standing  by  the  empty  fireplace. 

"What  you  see  and  hear  need  not  disturb  you," 
she  said,  looking  at  Benton  out  of  brilliant  eyes. 
"There  is  no  god  but  God;  and  His  prophet  has 
been  called  by  many  names."  And  to  Yulun :  "Have 
I  not  told  you  that  nothing  can  harm  our  souls?" 

Yulun's  expression  altered  and  she  turned  to  Ben- 
ton:  "Say  it  to  me !"  she  pleaded. 

As  in  a  dream  he  heard  his  own  words :  "Nothing 
can  ever  really  harm  the  soul." 

Yulun's  hands  fell  from  her  tunic  collar.  Very 
slowly  she  lifted  her  head,  looking  at  him  out  of 
lovely,  proud  young  eyes. 

She  said,  evenly,  her  still  gaze  on  him:  "I  am 
Yulun  of  the  Temple.  My  heart  is  like  a  blazing 
pearl  which  you  hold  between  your  hands.  May 
the  four  Blessed  Companions  witness  the  truth  of 
what  I  say." 

Then  a  delicate  veil  of  colour  wrapped  her  white 
skin  from  throat  to  temple;  she  looked  at  Benton 
with  sudden  and  exquisite  distress,  frightened  and 
ashamed  at  his  silence. 

In  the  intense  stillness  Benton  moved  toward  her. 
Into  his  outstretched  hands  her  two  hands  fell;  but, 
bending  above  them,  his  lips  touched  only  two  white 
hibiscus  flowers  that  lay  fresh  and  dewy  in  his 
palms. 

Bewildered,  be  straightened  up;  and  saw  the  girl 


192  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

standing  by  the  mantel  beside  Tressa,  who  had 
caught  her  by  the  left  hand. 

"Tokhta!    Look  out!"  she  said  distinctly. 

Suddenly  he  saw  two  men  in  the  room,  close  to 
him — their  broad  faces,  slanting  eyes,  and  sparse 
beards  thrust  almost  against  his  shoulder. 

"Djamouk!  Yaddin-ed-Din!"  cried  Tressa  in  a 
terrible  voice.  But  quick  as  a  flash  Yulun  tore  a 
white  sheet  from  the  bed,  flung  it  on  the  floor,  and, 
whipping  a  tiny,  jewelled  knife  from  her  sleeve, 
threw  it  glittering  upon  the  sheet  at  the  feet  of  the 
two  men. 

"One  shroud  for  two  souls  I"  she  said  breathlessly. 
" — and  a  knife  like  that  to  sever  them  from  their 
bodies!" 

The  two  men  sprang  backward  as  the  sheet 
touched  their  feet,  and  now  they  stood  there  as 
though  confounded. 

"Djamouk,  Kahn  of  the  Fifth  Tower!"  cried 
Tressa  in  a  clear  voice,  "you  have  put  off  your  body 
like  a  threadbare  cloak,  and  your  form  that  stands 
there  Is  only  your  mind !  And  it  fs  only  the  evil  will 
of  Yaddin  in  the  shape  of  his  body  that  confronts 
us  in  this  room  of  a  man  you  have  doomed!" 

Yulun,  intent  as  a  young  leopardess  on  her  prey, 
moved  soundlessly  toward  Yaddin. 

"Tougtchi!"  she  said  coldly,  "you  did  murder  this 
day,  my  Banneret,  and  the  Toug  of  Djamouk  has 
been  greased.  Now  look  out  for  yourself !" 

"Don't  stirl"  came  Tressa's  warning  voice,  as 
Benton  snatched  his  pistol  from  the  pillow.  "Don't 


YULUN  THE  BELOVED  193 

fire !  Those  men  have  no  real  substance !  For  God's 
sake  don't  fire !  I  tell  you  they  have  no  bodies !" 

Suddenly  something — some  force — flung  Benton 
on  the  bed.  The  two  men  did  not  seem  to  touch  him 
at  all,  but  he  lay  there  struggling,  crushed,  held  by 
something  that  was  strangling  him. 

Through  his  swimming  eyes  he  saw  Yaddin  trying 
to  drive  a  long  nail  into  his  skull  with  a  hammer, — 
felt  the  piercing  agony  of  the  first  crashing  blow, — 
struggled  upright,  drenched  in  blood,  his  ears  ring- 
ing with  the  screaming  of  Yaddin. 

Then,  there  in  the  little  rococo  bedroom  of  the 
Ritz-Carlton,  began  a  strange  and  horrible  strug- 
gle— the  more  dreadful  because  the  struggle  was  not 
physical  and  the  combatants  never  touched  each 
other — scarcely  moved  at  all. 

Yaddin,  still  screaming,  confronted  Yulun.  The 
girl's  eyes  were  ablaze,  her  lips  parted  with  the  vio- 
lence of  her  breathing.  And  Yaddin  writhed  and 
screamed  under  the  terrible  concentration  of  her 
gaze,  his  inferior  but  ferocious  mind  locked  with 
her  mind  in  deadly  battle. 

The  girl  said  slowly,  showing  a  glimmer  of  white 
teeth:  "Your  will  to  do  evil  to  my  young  lord  is 
breaking,  Yaddin-ed-Din.  .  ...  I  am  breaking  it. 
The  nail  and  hammer  were  but  symbols.  It  was 
your  brain  that  brooded  murder — that  willed  he 
should  die  as  though  shattered  by  lightning  when  that 
blood-vessel  burst  in  his  brain!" 

"Sorceress!"  shrieked  Yaddin,  "what  are  you  do- 


194  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

ing  to  my  heart,  where  my  body  lies  asleep  in  a  berth 
on  the  Montreal  Express!" 

"Your  heart  is  weak,  Yaddin.  Soon  the  valves 
shall  fail.  A  negro  porter  shall  discover  you  dead 
in  your  berth,  my  Banneret!" 

The  man's  swarthy  face  became  livid  with  the  ter- 
rific mental  battle. 

"Let  me  go  back  to  my  body !"  he  panted.  "What 
are  you  doing  to  me  that  I  can  not  go  back?  I  will 
go  back !  I  wish  it ! — I " 

"Let  us  go  back  and  rejoin  our  bodies!"  cried 
Djamouk  in  an  agonised  voice.  "There  are  teeth 
in  my  throat,  deep  in  my  throat,  biting  and  tearing 
out  the  cords." 

"Cancer,"  said  Tressa  calmly.  "Your  body  shall 
die  of  it  while  your  soul  stumbles  on  through  dark- 
ness." 

"My  Tougtchi!"  shouted  Djamouk,  "I  hear  my 
soul  bidding  my  body  farewell!  I  must  go  before 
my  mind  expires  in  the  terrible  gaze  of  this  young 
sorceress!" 

He  turned,  drifted  like  something  misty  to  the 
solid  wall. 

"My  soul  be  ransom  for  yours!"  cried  Yulun  to 
Tressa.  "Bar  that  man's  path  to  life !" 

Tressa  flung  out  her  right  hand  and,  with  her  fore- 
finger, drew  a  barrier  through  space,  bar  above  bar. 

And  Benton,  half  swooning  on  his  bed,  saw  a  cage 
of  terrible  and  living  light  penning  in  Djamouk,  who 
beat  upon  the  incandescent  bars  and  grasped  them 


YULUN  THE  BELOVED  195 

and  clawed  his  way  about,  squealing  like  a  tortured 
rat  in  a  red-hot  cage. 

Through  the  deafening  tumult  Yulun's  voice  cut 
like  a  sword: 

"Their  bodies  are  dying,  Heart  of  a  Rose!  .  .  . 
Listen !  I  hear  their  souls  bidding  their  minds  fare- 
well!" 

And,  after  a  dreadful  silence:  "The  train  speed- 
ing north  carries  two  dead  men!  God  is  God. 
Niaz!" 

The  bars  of  living  fire  faded.  Two  cinder-like  and 
shapeless  shadows  floated  and  eddied  like  whitened 
ashes  stirred  by  a  wind  on  the  hearth;  then  drifted 
through  the  lamp-light,  fading,  dissolving,  lost  grad- 
ually in  thin  air. 

Tressa,  leaning  back  against  the  mantel,  covered 
her  face  with  both  hands. 

Yulun  crept  to  the  bed  where  Benton  lay,  breath- 
ing evenly  in  deepest  sleep. 

With  the  sheer  sleeve  of  her  tunic  she  wiped  the 
blood  from  his  face.  And,  at  her  touch,  the  wound 
in  the  temple  closed  and  the  short,  bright  hair  dried 
and  curled  over  a  forehead  as  clean  and  fresh  as  a 
boy's. 

Then  Yulun  laid  her  lips  against  his,  rested  so  a 
moment. 

"Seek  me,  dear  lord,"  she  whispered.  "Or  send 
me  a  sign  and  I  shall  come." 

And,  after  a  pause,  she  said,  her  lips  scarcely 
stirring:  "Love  me.  My  heart  is  a  flaming  pearl 
burning  between  your  hands." 


196  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

Then  she  lifted  her  head. 

But  Tressa  had  rejoined  her  body,  where  it  lay 
asleep  beside  her  deeply  sleeping  husband. 

So  Yulun  stood  a  moment,  her  eyes  remote.  Then, 
after  a  while,  the  little  rococo  bedroom  in  the  Ritz- 
Carlton  was  empty  save  for  a  young  man  asleep  on 
the  bed,  holding  in  his  clenched  hand  a  white  hibiscus 
blossom. 


CHAPTER  XII 

HIS   EXCELLENCY 

HIS   EXCELLENCY    PRESIDENT   TIN- 
TINTO,   Chief  Executive   of  one   of  the 
newer  and  cruder  republics,  visiting  New 
York  incognito  with  his  Secretaries  of  War  and  of 
the  Navy,  had  sent  for  John  Recklow.     And  now 
the  reception  was  in  full  operation. 

Recklow  was  explaining.  "In  the  beginning,"  he 
said,  "the  Bolsheviks'  aim  was  to  destroy  everything 
and  everybody  except  themselves,  and  then  to  re- 
organise for  their  own  benefit  what  was  left  of  a 
wrecked  world.  That  was  their  programme " 

"Quite  a  programme,"  interrupted  the  Secretary 
of  War,  with  something  that  almost  resembled  a 
giggle.  But  his  prominent  eyes  continued  to  stare 
at  Recklow  untouched  by  the  mirth  which  stretched 
his  large,  silly  mouth. 

The  face  of  the  Secretary  of  the  Navy  resembled 
the  countenance  of  a  benevolent  manatee.  The  vis- 
age of  the  President  was  a  study  in  tinted  chalks. 

Recklow  said:  "To  combat  that  sort  of  Bol- 
shevism was  a  business  that  we  of  the  United  States 
Secret  Service  understood — or  supposed  we  under- 
stood. 

197 


138  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"Then,  suddenly,  out  of  unknown  Mongolia  and 
into  the  civilised  world  stepped  eight  men." 

"Yezidees,"  said  the  President  mechanically. 
"Your  Government  has  sent  me  a  very  full  re- 
port." 

"Yezidees  of  the  Sect  of  the  Assassins,"  con- 
tinued Recklow;  " — the  most  ancient  sect  in  the 
world  surviving  from  ancient  times — the  Sorcerers 
of  Asia.  And,  as  it  was  in  ancient  times,  so  it  is 
now:  the  Yezidees  are  devil  worshipers;  their  god 
is  Satan;  his  prophet  is  Erlik,  Prince  of  Darkness; 
his  regent  on  earth  is  the  old  man  of  Mount  Ala- 
mout;  and  to  this  ancient  and  sinister  title  a  Yezi- 
dee  sorcerer  called  Prince  Sanang,  or  Sanang  No'i- 
ane,  has  succeeded. 

"His  murderous  deputies  were  the  Eight  Khans 
of  the  Eight  Towers.  Four  of  these  assassins  are 
dead — Gutchlug,  Yarghouz,  Djamouk  the  Fox,  and 
Yaddin-ed-Din.  One  is  in  prison  charged  with  mur- 
der,— Albert  Feke. 

"Four  of  the  sorcerers  remain  alive:  Tiyang 
Khan,  Togrul,  Arrak,  Sou-Sou,  called  The  Squirrel, 
and  the  Old  Man  of  the  Mountain  himself,  Sai- 
Sanang,  Prince  of  the  Yezidees." 

Recklow  paused;  the  pop-eyes  of  the  War  Secre- 
tary were  upon  him ;  the  benevolent  manatee  gazed 
mildly  at  him;  the  countenance  of  the  President 
seemed  more  like  a  Rocky  Mountain  goat  than  ever 
— chiselled  out  of  a  block  of  tinted  chalk. 

Recklow  said:  "To  the  menace  of  Bolshevism, 
which  endangers  this  Republic  and  yours,  has  been 


HIS  EXCELLENCY  199 

added  a  more  terrible  threat — the  threat  of  pow- 
erful and  evil  minds  made  formidable  by  psychic 
knowledge. 

"For  these  Yezidee  Sorcerers  are  determined  to 
conquer,  seize,  and  subdue  the  minds  of  mankind. 
They  are  here  for  that  frightful  purpose.  Power- 
fully, terrifically  equipped  to  surprise  and  capture 
the  unarmed  minds  of  our  people,  enslave  their  very 
thoughts  and  use  them  to  their  own  purposes,  these 
Sorcerers  of  the  Yezidees  assumed  control  of  the 
Bolsheviki,  who  were  merely  envious  and  ferocious 
bandits,  but  whose  crippled  minds  are  now  utterly 
enslaved  by  these  Assassins  from  Asia. 

"And  this  is  what  the  United  States  Secret  Serv- 
ice has  to  combat.  And  its  weapons  are  not  war- 
rants, not  pistols.  For  in  this  awful  battle  between 
decency  and  evil,  it  is  mind  against  mind  in  an  occult 
death  grapple.  And  our  only  weapon  against  these 
minds  made  powerful  by  psychic  knowledge  and 
made  terrible  by  an  esoteric  ability  akin  to  what  is 
called  black  magic, — our  only  weapon  is  the  mind  of 
a  young  girl." 

"I  understand,"  said  the  President,  "that  she  be- 
came an  adept  in  occult  practices  while  imprisoned 
in  the  Yezidee  Temple  of  Erlik  at  Yian." 

Recklow  looked  into  the  President's  face,  which 
had  grown  very  pale. 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  said.  "God  alone  knows  what  this 
child  learned  in  the  Yezidee  Temple.  All  I  know 
is  that  with  this  knowledge  she  has  met  the  Yezidees 
in  a  battle  of  minds,  has  halted  them,  confounded 


200  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

them,  fought  them  with  their  own  occult  knowledge, 
and  has  slain  four  of  them." 

The  intense  silence  was  broken  by  the  frivolous 
titter  of  the  Secretary  of  War: 

"Of  course  I  don't  believe  any  of  this  supernatu- 
ral stuff,"  he  said  with  the  split  grin  which  did  not 
modify  his  protruding  stare.  "This  girl  is  merely  a 
clever  detective,  that  is  the  gist  of  the  matter.  And 
I  don't  believe  anything  else." 

"Perhaps,  sir,  you  will  believe  this,  then,"  said 
John  Recklow  quietly.  "I  cut  it  from  the  Times 
this  morning."  And  he  handed  the  clipping  to  the 
Secretary  of  War. 

NEW  PLOT  IN  EAST 

Moslem  and  Hindu  Conspirators 

Have  Formed  Secret 

Organisation 

Have  World  Revolution  in  View 

Think  to  Rouse  Asia,  America,  and  Africa 

to  Outbreaks  by  Their 

Propaganda. 


Copyright,  I9i9,by  The  New  York  Times  Company. 
Special  Cable  to  The  New  York  Times. 

'July  i. — A  significant  event  has  recently  taken 
place.  Under  the  name  of  the  Oriental  League  has 
recently  been  established  a  central  organisation  unit- 


HIS  EXCELLENCY  201 

ing  all  the  various  secret  societies  of  Moslem  and 
Hindu  nationalists.  The  aim  of  the  new  association 
is  to  prepare  for  joint  revolutionary  action  in  Asia, 
America,  and  Africa. 

The  effects  of  this  vast  conspiracy  may  already  be 
traced  in  recent  events  in  Egypt,  India,  and  Afghan- 
istan. For  the  first  time,  through  the  creation  of 
this  league,  the  racial  and  religious  differences  which 
have  divided  Eastern  conspirators  have  been  over- 
come. The  Ottoman  League,  founded  by  Mahmud 
Muktar  Pasha,  Munir  Pasha,  and  Ahmed  Rechid 
Bey,  has  adhered  to  the  new  organisation.  So  have 
the  extreme  Egyptian  nationalists  and  the  Hindu  rev- 
olutionary group,  "Pro  India,"  emissaries  of  which 
were  recently  sentenced  for  bringing  bombs  into 
Switzerland  during  the  war  at  the  instigation  of  the 
German  General  Staff. 

At  a  "Constituent  Assembly"  of  the  league,  which 
took  place  in Yian, there  were  present,  besides  Young 
Turks,  Egyptians  and  Hindus,  delegates  represent- 
ing Persia,  Afghanistan,  Algeria,  Morocco,  and 
Mongolia. 

The  league  is  of  Mongolian  origin.  Its  leading 
spirit  is  a  certain  Prince  Sanang,  of  whom  little  is 
known. 

Associated  with  this  mischievous  and  rather  mys- 
terious Mongolian  personage  are  three  better  known 
criminals,  now  fugitives  from  justice — Talaat,  En- 
ver,  and  Djemal.  It  is  to  Enver  Pasha's  talent  for 
intrigue  that  the  union  between  Moslems  and  Hin- 
dus, the  most  striking  and  dangerous  feature  of  the 
movement,  is  chiefly  due. 

Considerable  funds  are  at  the  disposal  of  the 
league.  These  are  partly  supplied  from  Germany. 
Besides  enjoying  the  support  of  the  Germans,  the 


202  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

league  is  also  in  close  touch  with  Lenine,  who  very 
soon  after  his  advent  to  power  organised  an  Orien- 
tal Department  in  Moscow. 

The  alliance  between  the  league  and  the  Russian 
Bolsheviki  was  brought  about  by  the  notorious  Ger- 
man Socialist  agent,  "Parvus,"  who  is  now  in  Swit- 
zerland. Many  weeks  ago  he  conferred  with  the 
Soviet  rulers  in  Moscow,  whence  he  went  to  Afghan- 
istan, hoping  to  reorganise  the  new  Amir's  army  and 
establish  lines  of  communication  for  propaganda  in 
India. 

Evidence  exists  that  the  recent  insurrection  in 
Egypt,  the  sudden  attack  of  the  Afghans,  and  the 
rising  in  India,  remarkable  for  co-operation  between 
Moslems  and  Hindus,  were  connected  with  the  ac- 
tivities of  the  league. 


The  Secretary  looked  up  after  he  finished  the 
reading. 

"I  don't  see  anything  about  Black  Magic  in  this?" 
he  remarked  flippantly. 

Recklow's  features  became  very  grave. 

"I  think,"  he  said,  "that  everybody — myself  in- 
cluded— and,  with  all  respect,  even  yourself,  sir, — 
and  your  honourable  colleague, — and  perhaps  even 
his  Excellency  your  President, — should  be  on  per- 
petual guard  over  their  minds,  and  the  thoughts  that 
range  there,  lest,  surreptitiously,  stealthily,  some 
taint  of  Yezidee  infection  lodge  there  and  take  root 
— and  spread — perhaps — throughout  your  new  Re- 
public." 


HIS  EXCELLENCY  $03 

The  Secretary  of  War  grinned.  "They  say  I'm 
something  of  a  socialist  already,"  he  chuckled.  "Do 
you  think  your  magic  Yezidees  are  responsible  ?" 

The  President,  troubled  and  pallid,  gazed  stead- 
ily at  Recklow. 

"Mine  is  a  single-track  mind,"  he  remarked  as 
though  to  himself. 

Recklow  said  nothing.  It  is  one  kind  of  mind, 
after  all.  However,  single-track  roads  are  now  ob- 
solete. 

"A  single-track  mind,"  repeated  the  President. 
"And — I  should  not  like  anything  to  happen  to  the 
switch.  It  would  mean  ditching — or  a  rusty  siding 
at  best.  .  .  .  Please  do  all  that  is  possible  to  get 
those  four  Yezidees,  Mr.  Recklow." 

Recklow  said  calmly:  "Our  only  hope  is  in  this 
young  girl,  Tressa  Nome,  who  is  now  Mrs.  Cleves." 

"My  conscience!"  piped  the  Secretary  of  the 
Navy.  "What  would  happen  to  us  if  these  Yezi- 
dees should  murder  her?" 

"God  knows,"  replied  John  Recklow,  unsmiling. 

"Why  not  put  her  aboard  our  new  dreadnought?" 
suggested  the  Secretary,  "and  keep  her  cruising  un- 
til you  United  States  Secret  Service  fellows  get  the 
rest  of  these  infernal  Yezidees  and  clap  'em  into 
jail?" 

"We  can  do  nothing  without  her,"  said  Recklow 
sombrely. 

There  was  a  painful  silence.  The  President  joined 
his  finger  tips  and  stared  palely  into  space. 


204  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"May  I  not  say,"  he  suggested,  "that  I  think  it  a 
vital  necessity  that  these  Yezidees  be  caught  and  de- 
stroyed before 'they  do  any  damage  to  the  minds 
of  myself  and  my  cabinet?" 

"God  grant  it,  sir,"  said  Recklow  grimly. 

"Mine,"  murmured  the  President,  "is  a  single- 
track  mind.  I  should  be  very  much  annoyed  if  any- 
body tampered  with  the  rails — very  much  annoyed 
indeed,  Mr.  Recklow." 

"They  mustn't  murder  that  girl,"  said  the  Secre- 
tary of  the  Navy.  "Do  you  need  any  Marines,  Mr. 
Recklow?  Why  not  ask  your  Government  for  a 
few?" 

Recklow  rose :  "Mr.  President,"  he  said,  "I  shall 
not  deny  that  my  Government  is  very  deeply  dis- 
turbed by  this  situation.  In  the  beginning,  these 
eight  Assassins,  and  Sanang,  came  here  for  the  pur- 
pose of  attacking,  overpowering,  and  enslaving  the 
minds  of  the  people  of  the  United  States  and  of 
the  South  American  Republics. 

"But  now,  after  four  of  their  infamous  colleagues 
have  been  destroyed,  the  ferocious  survivors,  thor- 
oughly alarmed,  have  turned  their  every  energy  to- 
ward accomplishing  the  death  of  Mrs.  Cleves !  Why, 
sir,  scarcely  a  day  passes  but  that  some  attempt  upon 
her  life  is  made  by  these  Yezidees. 

"Scarcely  a  day  passes  that  this  young  girl  is  not 
suddenly  summoned  to  defend  her  mind  as  well  as 
her  body  against  the  occult  attacks  of  these  Mongol 
Sorcerers.  Yes,  sir,  Sorcerers!"  repeated  Recklow, 


HIS  EXCELLENCY  205 

his  calm  voice  deep  with  controlled  passion,  " — what- 
ever your  honourable  Secretary  of  War  may  think 
about  it  I" 

His  cold,  grey  eyes  measured  the  President  as  he 
stood  there. 

"Mr.  President,  I  am  at  my  wits'  end  to  protect 
her  from  assassination !  Her  husband  is  always  with 
her — Victor  Cleves,  sir,  of  our  Secret  Service.  But 
wherever  he  takes  her  these  devils  follow  and  send 
their  emissaries  to  watch  her,  to  follow,  to  attempt 
her  mental  destruction  or  her  physical  death. 

"There  is  no  end  to  their  stealthy  cunning,  to 
their  devilish  devices,  to  their  hellish  ingenuity! 

"And  all  we  can  do  is  to  guard  her  person  from 
the  approach  of  strangers,  and  stand  ready,  physi- 
cally, to  aid  her. 

"She  is  our  only  barrier — your  only  defence — be- 
tween civilisation  and  horrors  worse  than  Bolshe- 
vism. 

"]•  believe,  Mr.  President,  that  civilisation  in 
North  and  South  America — in  your  own  Republic  as 
well  as  in  ours — depends,  literally,  upon  the  safety 
of  Tressa  Cleves.  For,  if  the  Yezidees  kill  her, 
then  I  do  not  see  what  is  to  save  civilisation  from 
utter  disintegration  and  total  destruction." 

There  was  a  silence.  Recklow  was  not  certain, 
that  the  President  had  been  listening. 

His  Excellency  sat  with  finger  tips  joined,  gazing 
pallidly  into  space;  and  Recklow  heard  him  mur- 
muring under  his  breath  and  all  to  himself,  as 


206  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

though  to  fix  the  deathless  thought  forever  in  his 
brain: 

"May  I  not  say  that  mine  is  a  single-track  mind? 
May  I  not  say  it?  May  I  not, — may  I  not, — not, 
not,  not " 


CHAPTER  XIII 

SA-N'SA 

"TUNE  sunshine  poured  through  the  window  of  his 
bedroom  in  the  Ritz;  and  Cleves  had  just  fin- 
ished dressing  when  he  heard  his  wife's  voice  in 
the  adjoining  sitting-room. 

He  had  not  supposed  that  Tressa  was  awake.  He 
hastened  to  tie  his  tie  and  pull  on  a  smoking  jacket, 
listening  all  the  while  to  his  wife's  modulated  but 
gay  young  voice. 

Then  he  opened  the  sitting-room  door  and  went 
in.  And  found  his  wife  entirely  alone. 

She  looked  up  at  him,  her  lips  still  parted  as 
though  checked  in  what  she  had  been  saying,  the 
smile  still  visible  in  her  blue  eyes. 

"Who  on  earth  are  you  talking  to?"  he  asked,  his 
bewildered  glance  sweeping  the  sunny  room  again. 

She  did  not  reply;  her  smile  faded  as  a  spot  of 
sunlight  wanes,  veiled  by  a  cloud — yet  a  glimmer  of 
it  remained  in  her  gaze  as  he  came  over  to  her. 

"I  thought  they'd  brought  our  breakfast,"  he  said, 
" — hearing  your  voice.  .  .  .  Did  you  sleep  well?" 

"Yes,  Victor." 

He  seated  himself,  and  his  perplexed  scrutiny  in- 
cluded her  frail  morning  robe  of  China  silk,  her 
207 


208  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

lovely  bare  arms,  and  her  splendid  hair  twisted  up 
and  pegged  down  with  a  jade  dagger.  Around  her 
bare  throat  and  shoulders,  too,  was  a  magnificent 
necklace  of  imperial  jade  which  he  had  never  be- 
fore seen;  and  on  one  slim,  white  finger  a  superb 
jade  ring. 

"By  Jove  1"  he  said,  "you're  very  exotic  this  morn- 
ing, Tressa.  I  never  before  saw  that  negligee  ef- 
fect." 

The  girl  laughed,  glanced  at  her  ring,  lifted  a  frail 
silken  fold  and  examined  the  amazing  embroidery. 

"I  wore  it  at  the  Lake  of  the  Ghosts,"  she  said. 

The  name  of  that  place  always  chilled  him.  He 
had  begun  to  hate  it,  perhaps  because  of  all  that  he 
did  not  know  about  it — about  his  wife's  strange  girl- 
hood— about  Yian  and  the  devil's  Temple  there — 
and  about  Sanang. 

He  said  coldly  but  politely  that  the  robe  was 
unusual  and  the  jade  very  wonderful. 

The  alteration  in  his  voice  and  expression  did  not 
escape  her.  It  meant  merely  masculine  jealousy,  but 
Tressa  never  dreamed  he  cared  in  that  way. 

Breakfast  was  brought,  served;  and  presently 
these  two  young  people  were  busy  with  their  melons, 
coffee,  and  toast  in  the  sunny  room  high  above  the 
softened  racket  of  traffic  echoing  through  avenue 
and  street  below. 

"Recklow  telephoned  me  this  morning,"  he  re- 
marked. 

She  looked  up,  her  face  serious. 

".Recklow  says  that  Yezidee  mischief  is  taking  vis- 


SA-N'SA  209 

ible  shape.  The  Socialist  Party  is  going  to  be  split 
into  bits  and  a  new  party,  impudently  and  publicly 
announcing  itself  as  the  Communist  Party  of  Amer- 
ica, is  being  organised.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  any- 
thing as  shameless — as  outrageous — in  this  Repub- 
lic?" 

She  said  very  quietly:  "Sanang  has  taken  pris- 
oner the  minds  of  these  wretched  people.  He  and 
his  remaining  Yezidees  are  giving  battle  to  the  un- 
armed minds  of  our  American  people." 

"Gutchlug  is  dead,"  said  Cleves,  " — and  Yarg- 
houz  and  Djamouk,  and  Yaddin." 

"But  Tiyang  Khan  is  alive,  and  Togrul,  and  that 
cunning  demon  Arrak  Sou-Sou,  called  The  Squir- 
rel," she  said.  She  bent  her  head,  considering  the 
jade  ring  on  her  finger.  " — And  Prince  Sanang," 
she  added  in  a  low  voice. 

"Why  didn't  you  let  me  shoot  him  when  I  had 
the  chance?"  said  Cleves  harshly. 

So  abrupt  was  his  question,  so  rough  his  sudden 
manner,  that  the  girl  looked  up  in  dismayed  sur- 
prise. Then  a  deep  colour  stained  her  face. 

"Once,"  she  said,  "Prince  Sanang  held  my  heart 
prisoner — as  Erlik  held  my  soul.  ...  I  told  you 
that." 

"Is  that  the  reason  you  gave  the  fellow  a  chance?" 

"Yes." 

"Oh.  .  .  .  And  possibly  you  gave  Sanang  a 
chance  because  he  still  holds  your — affections !" 

She  said,  crimson  with  the  pain  of  the  accusation : 
"I  tore  my  heart  out  of  his  keeping.  ...  I  told  you 


210  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

that.  .  .  .  And,  believing — trying  to  believe  what 
you  say  to  me,  I  have  tried  to  tear  my  soul  out  of 
the  claws  of  Erlik.  .  .  .  Why  are  you  angry?" 

"I  don't  know.  .  .  .  I'm  not  angry.  .  .  .  The 
whole  horrible  situation  is  breaking  my  nerve,  I 
guess.  .  .  .  With  whom  were  you  talking  before  I 
came  in?" 

After  a  silence  the  girl's  smile  glimmered. 

"I'm  afraid  you  won't  like  it  if  I  tell  you." 

"Why  not?" 

"You — such  things  perplex  and  worry  you.  .  .  . 
I  am  afraid  you  won't  like  me  any  the  better  if  I 
tell  you  who  it  was  I  had  been  talking  with." 

His  intent  gaze  never  left  her.  "I  want  you  to 
tell  me,"  he  repeated. 

"I — I  was  talking  with  Sa-n'sa,"  she  faltered. 

"With  whom?" 

"With  Sa-n'sa.  ...  We  called  her  Sansa." 

"Who  the  dickens  is  Sansa?" 

"We  were  three  comrades  at  the  Temple,"  she 
said  timidly,  " — Yulun,  Sansa,  and  myself.  We 
loved  each  other.  We  always  went  to  the  Lake  of 
the  Ghosts  together — for  protection " 

"Go  on!" 

"Sansa  was  a  girl  of  the  Aroulads,  born  at  Buldak 
— as  was  Temujin.  The  night  she  was  born  three 
moon-rainbows  made  circles  around  her  Ya'ilak. 
The  Baroulass  horsemen  saw  this  and  prayed  loudly 
in  their  saddles.  Then  they  galloped  to  Yian  and 
came  crawling  on  their  bellies  to  Sanang  Noiane  with 
the  news  of  the  miracle.  And  Sanang  came  with  a 


SA-N'SA  211 

thousand  riders  in  leather  armour.  And, 'What  is  this 
child's  name?'  he  shouted,  riding  into  the  Ya'ilak  with 
his  black  banners  flapping  around  him  like  devil's 
wings. 

"A  poor  Manggoud  came  out  of  the  tent  of  skins, 
carrying  the  new  born  infant,  and  touched  his  head 
to  Sanang's  stirrup.  'This  babe  is  called  Tchagane,' 
he  said,  trembling  all  over.  'No !'  cries  Sanang,  'she 
is  called  Sansa.  Give  her  to  me  and  may  Erlik  seize 
you!' 

"And  he  took  the  baby  on  his  saddle  in  front  of 
him  and  struck  his  spurs  deep;  and  so  came  Sansa  to 
Yian  under  a  roaring  rustle  of  black  silk  banners. 
.  .  .  It  is  so  written  in  the  Book  of  Iron.  .  .  .  Alla- 
hou  Ekber." 

Cleves  had  leaned  his  elbow  on  the  table,  his  fore- 
head rested  in  his  palm. 

Perhaps  he  was  striving  in  a  bewildered  way  to 
reconcile  such  occult  and  amazing  things  with  the 
year  1920 — with  the  commonplace  and  noisy  city  of 
New  York — with  this  pretty,  modern,  sunlit  sitting- 
room  in  the  Ritz-Carlton  on  Madison  Avenue — with 
this  girl  in  her  morning  negligee  opposite,  her  coffee 
and  melon  fragrant  at  her  elbow,  her  wonderful  blue 
eyes  resting  on  him. 

"Sansa,"  he  repeated  slowly,  as  though  striving  to 
grasp  even  a  single  word  from  the  confusion  of 
names  and  phrases  that  were  sounding  still  in  his 
ears  like  the  vibration  of  distant  and  unfamiliar  seas. 

"Is  this  the  girl  you  were  talking  with  just  now? 


212  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

In — in  this  room?"  he  added,  striving  to  under- 
stand. 

"Yes." 

"She  wasn't  here,  of  course." 

"Her  body  was  not." 

"Oh!" 

Tressa  said  in  her  sweet,  humorous  way:  "You 
must  try  to  accustom  yourself  to  such  things,  Victor. 
You  know  that  Yulun  talks  to  me.  ...  I  wanted  to 
talk  to  Sansa.  The  longing  awakened  me.  So — / 
made  the  effort." 

"And  she  came — I  mean  the  part  of  her  which  is 
not  her  body." 

"Yes,  she  came.  We  talked  very  happily  while 
I  was  bathing  and  dressing.  Then  we  came  in  here. 
She  is  such  a  darling!" 

"Where  is  she?" 

"In  Yian,  feeding  her  silk-worms  and  making  a 
garden.  You  see,  Sansa  is  quite  wealthy  now,  be- 
cause when  the  Japanese  came  she  filled  a  bullock 
cart  with  great  lumps  of  spongy  gold  from  the  Tem- 
ple and  filled  another  cart  with  Yu-stone,  and  took 
the  Hezar  of  Baroulass  horsemen  on  guard  at  the 
Lake  of  the  Ghosts.  And  with  this  Keutch,  riding 
a  Soubz  horse,  and  dressed  like  an  Urieng  lancer,  my 
pretty  little  comrade  Tchagane,  who  is  called  Sansa, 
marched  north  preceded  by  two  kettle-drums  and  a 
toug  with  two  tails " 

Tressa's  clear  laughter  checked  her;  she  clapped 
her  hands,  breathless  with  mirth  at  the  picture  she 
evoked. 


SA-N'SA  213 

"Kai!"  she  laughed;  "what  adorable  impudence 
has  Sansa!  Neither  Tchortcha  nor  Khiounnou 
dared  ask  her  who  were  her  seven  ancestors !  No ! 
And  when  her  caravan  came  to  the  lovely  Yliang 
river,  my  darling  Sansa  rode  out  and  grasped  the 
lance  from  her  Tougtchi  and  drove  the  point  deep 
into  the  fertile  soil,  crying  in  a  clear  voice :  'A  place 
for  Tchagane  and  her  people !  Make  room  for  the 
toug!' 

"Then  her  Manggoud,  who  carried  the  spare  steel 
tip  for  her  lance,  got  out  of  his  saddle  and,  gather- 
ing a  handful  of  mulberry  leaves,  rubbed  the  shaft 
of  the  lance  till  it  was  all  pale  green. 

'  'Toug  iaglachakho !'  cries  my  adorable  Sansa ! 
'Build  me  here  my  Urdu !  * — my  Mocalla !  **  And 
upon  it  pitch  my  tent  of  skins  I" 

Again  Tressa's  laughter  checked  her,  and  she 
strove  to  control  it  with  the  jade  ring  pressed  to  her 
lips. 

"Oh,  Victor,"  she  added  in  a  stifled  voice,  looking 
at  him  out  of  eyes  full  of  mischief,  "you  don't  real- 
ise how  funny  it  was — Sansa  and  her  toug  and  her 
Urdu — Oh,  Allah! — the  bones  of  Tchinguiz  must 
have  rattled  in  his  tomb  I" 

Her  infectious  laughter  evoked  a  responsive  but 
perplexed  smile  from  Cleves;  but  it  was  the  smile  of 
a  bewildered  man  who  has  comprehended  very  little 
of  an  involved  jest;  and  he  looked  around  at  the 
modern  room  as  though  to  find  his  bearings. 

*  Urdu  =  An  imperial  encampment. 

*»  Mocalla  =  A  platform  used  as  a  Moslem  pulpit. 


214  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

Suddenly  Tressa  leaned  forward  swiftly  and  laid 
one  hand  on  his. 

"You  don't  think  all  this  is  very  funny.  You  don't 
like  it,"  she  said  in  soft  concern. 

"It  isn't  that,  Tressa.  But  this  is  New  York  City 
in  the  year  1920.  And  I  can't — I  absolutely  can  not 
get  into  touch — hook  up,  mentally,  with  such  things 
— with  the  unreal  Oriental  life  that  is  so  familiar 
to  you." 

She  nodded  sympathetically:  "I  know.  You  feel 
like  a  Mergued  Pagan  from  Lake  Baikal  when  all 
the  lamps  are  lighted  in  the  Mosque ; — like  a  camel 
driver  with  his  jade  and  gold  when  he  enters  Yar- 
kand  at  sunrise." 

"Probably  I  feel  like  that,"  said  Cleves,  laughing 
outright.  "I  take  your  word,  dear,  anyway." 

But  he  took  more;  he  picked  up  her  soft  hand 
where  it  still  rested  on  his,  pressed  it,  and  instantly 
reddened  because  he  had  done  it.  And  Tressa's 
bright  flush  responded  so  quickly  that  neither  of 
them  understood,  and  both  misunderstood. 

The  girl  rose  with  heightened  colour,  not  knowing 
why  she  stood  up  or  what  she  meant  to  do.  And 
Cleves,  misinterpreting  her  emotion  as  a  silent  re- 
buke to  the  invasion  of  that  convention  tacitly  ac- 
cepted between  them,  stood  up,  too,  and  began  to 
speak  carelessly  of  commonplace  things. 

She  made  the  effort  to  reply,  scarcely  knowing 
what  she  was  saying,  so  violently  had  his  caress  dis- 
turbed her  heart, — and  she  was  still  speaking  when 
their  telephone  rang. 


SA-N'SA  215 

Cleves  went;  listened,  then,  still  listening,  sum- 
moned Tressa  to  his  side  with  a  gesture. 

"It's  Selden,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "He  says 
he  has  the  Yezidee  Arrak  Sou-Sou  under  observa- 
tion, and  that  he  needs  you  desperately.  Will  you 
help  us?" 

"I'll  go,  of  course,"  she  replied,  turning  quite 
pale. 

Cleves  nodded,  still  listening.  After  a  while: 
"All  right.  We'll  be  there.  Good-bye,"  he  said 
sharply;  and  hung  up. 

Then  he  turned  and  looked  at  his  wife. 

"I  wish  to  God,"  he  muttered,  "that  this  business 
were  ended.  I — I  can't  bear  to  have  you  go." 

"I  am  not  afraid.  .  .  .  Where  is  it?" 

"I  never  heard  of  the  place  before.  We're  to 
meet  Selden  at  Tool's  Acre.'  " 

"Where  is  it,  Victor?" 

"I  don't  know.  Selden  says  there  are  no  roads, 
— not  even  a  spotted  trail.  It's  a  wilderness  left 
practically  blank  by  the  Geological  Survey.  Only 
the  contours  are  marked,  and  Selden  tells  me  that 
the  altitudes  are  erroneous  and  the  unnamed  lakes 
and  water  courses  are  all  wrong.  He  says  it  is  his 
absolute  conviction  that  the  Geological  Survey  never 
penetrated  this  wilderness  at  all,  but  merely  skirted 
it  and  guessed  at  what  lay  inside,  because  the  map 
he  has  from  Washington  is  utterly  misleading,  and 
the  entire  region  is  left  blank  except  for  a  few 
vague  blue  lines  and  spots  indicating  water,  and  a 
few  heights  marked  '1800.'  " 


216  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

He  turned  and  began  to  pace  the  sitting-room, 
frowning,  perplexed,  undecided. 

"Selden  tells  me,"  he  said,  "that  the  Yezidee, 
Arrak  Sou-Sou,  is  in  there  and  very  busy  doing 
something  or  other.  He  says  that  he  can  do  noth- 
ing without  you,  and  will  explain  why  when  we  meet 
him." 

"Yes,  Victor." 

Cleves  turned  on  his  heel  and  came  over  to  where 
his  wife  stood  beside  the  sunny  window. 

"I  hate  to  ask  you  to  go.  I  know  that  was  the 
understanding.  But  this  incessant  danger — your 
constant  peril " 

"That  does  not  count  when  I  think  of  my  coun- 
try's peril,"  she  said  in  a  quiet  voice.  "When  are 
we  to  start?  And  what  shall  I  pack  in  my  trunk?" 

"Dear  child,"  he  said  with  a  brusque  laugh,  "it's 
a  wilderness  and  we  carry  what  we  need  on  our 
backs.  Selden  meets  us  at  a  place  called  Glenwild, 
on  the  edge  of  this  wilderness,  and  we  follow  him 
in  on  our  two  legs." 

He  glanced  across  at  the  mantel  clock. 

"If  you'll  dress,"  he  said  nervously,  "we'll  go  to 
some  shop  that  outfits  sportsmen  for  the  North.  Be- 
cause, if  we  can,  we  ought  to  leave  on  the  one  o'clock 
train." 

She  smiled;  came  up  to  him.  "Don't  worry  about 
me,"  she  said.  "Because  I  also  am  nervous  and 
tired ;  and  I  mean  to  make  an  end  of  every  Yezidee 
remaining  in  America." 

"Sanang,  too?" 


SA-N'SA  217 

They  both  flushed  deeply. 

She  said  in  a  steady  voice:  "Between  God  and 
Erlik  there  is  a  black  gulf  where  a  million  million 
stars  hang,  lighting  a  million  million  other  worlds. 

"Prince  Sanang's  star  glimmers  there.  It  is  a  sun, 
called  Yramid.  And  it  lights  the  planet,  Yu-tsung. 
Let  him  reign  there  between  God  and  Erlik." 

"You  will  slay  this  man?" 

"God  forbid  I"  she  said,  shuddering.  "But  I  shall 
send  him  to  his  own  star.  Let  my  soul  be  ransom  for 
his!  And  may  Allah  judge  between  us — between 
this  man  and  me." 

Then,  in  the  still,  sunny  room,  the  girl  turned  to 
face  the  East.  And  her  husband  saw  her  lips  move 
as  though  speaking,  but  heard  no  sound. 

"What  on  earth  are  you  saying  there,  all  to  your- 
self?" he  demanded  at  last. 

She  turned  her  head  and  looked  at  him  across  her 
left  shoulder. 

""I  asked  Sansa  to  help  me.  .  .  .  And  she  says 
she  will." 

Cleves  nodded  in  a  dazed  way.  Then  he  opened 
a  window  and  leaned  there  in  the  sunshine,  looking 
down  into  Madison  Avenue.  And  the  roar  of  traffic 
seemed  to  soothe  his  nerves. 

But  "Good  heavens!"  he  thought;  "do  such  things 
really  go  on  in  New  York  in  1920!  Is  the  entire 
world  becoming  a  little  crazy?  Am  I  really  in  my 
right  mind  when  I  believe  that  the  girl  I  married  is 
talking,  without  wireless,  to  another  girl  in  China  1" 


218  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

He  leaned  there  heavily,  gazing  down  into  the 
street  with  sombre  eyes. 

"What  a  ghastly  thing  these  Yezidees  are  trying 
to  do  to  the  world — these  Assassins  of  men's 
minds'!"  he  thought,  turning  away  toward  the  door 
of  his  bedroom. 

As  he  crossed  the  threshold  he  stumbled,  and  look- 
ing down  saw  that  he  had  tripped  over  a  white  sheet 
lying  there.  For  a  moment  he  thought  it  was  a 
sheet  from  his  own  bed,  and  he  started  to  pick  it 
up.  Then  he  saw  the  naked  blade  of  a  knife  at  his 
feet. 

With  an  uncontrollable  shudder  he  stepped  out  of 
the  shroud  and  stood  staring  at  the  knife  as  though 
it  were  a  snake.  It  had  a  curved  blade  and  a  bone 
hilt  coarsely  inlaid  with  Arabic  characters  in  brass. 

The  shroud  was  a  threadbare  affair — perhaps  a 
bed-sheet  from  some  cheap  lodging  house.  But  its 
significance  was  so  repulsive  that  he  hesitated  to 
touch  it. 

However,  he  was  ashamed  to  have  it  discovered 
in  his  room.  He  picked  up  the  brutal-looking  knife 
and  kicked  the  shroud  out  into  the  corridor,  where 
they  could  guess  if  they  liked  how  such  a  rag  got 
into  the  Ritz-Carlton. 

Then  he  searched  his  bedroom,  and,  of  course, 
discovered  nobody  hiding.  But  chills  crawled  on  his 
spine  while  he  was  about  it,  and  he  shivered  still  as 
he  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room  examining  the 
knife  and  testing  edge  and  point. 

Then,  close  to  his  ear,  a  low  voice  whispered: 


SA-N'SA  219 

"Be  careful,  my  lord;  the  Yezidee  knife  is  poisoned. 
But  it  is  written  that  a  poisoned  heart  is  more  dan- 
gerous still." 

He  had  turned  like  a  flash;  and  he  saw,  between 
him  and  the  sitting-room  door,  a  very  young  girl 
with  slightly  slanting  eyes,  and  rose  and  ivory  fea- 
tures as  perfect  as  though  moulded  out  of  tinted 
bisque. 

She  wore  a  loose  blue  linen  robe,  belted  in,  short 
at  the  elbows  and  skirt,  showing  two  creamy-skinned 
arms  and  two  bare  feet  in  straw  sandals.  In  one 
hand  she  had  a  spray  of  purple  mulberries,  and  she 
looked  coolly  at  Cleves  and  ate  a  berry  or  two. 

"Give  me  the  knife,"  she  said  calmly. 

He  handed  it  to  her;  she  wiped  it  with  a  mulberry 
leaf  and  slipped  it  through  her  girdle. 

"I  am  Sansa,"  she  said  with  a  friendly  glance  at 
him,  busy  with  her  fruit. 

Cleves  strove  to  speak  naturally,  but  his  voice 
trembled. 

"Is  it  you — I  mean  your  real  self — your  own 
body?" 

"It's  my  real  self.  Yes.  But  my  body  is  asleep 
in  my  mulberry  grove." 

"In— in  China?" 

"Yes,"  she  said  calmly,  detaching  another  mul- 
berry and  eating  it.  A  few  fresh  leaves  fell  on  the 
centre  table. 

Sansa  chose  another  berry.  "You  know,"  she 
said,  "that  I  came  to  Tressa  this  morning, — to  my 
little  Heart  of  Fire  I  came  when  she  called  me.  And 


220  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

I  was  quite  sleepy,  too.  But  I  heard  her,  though 
there  was  a  night  wind  in  the  mulberry  trees,  and 
the  river  made  a  silvery  roaring  noise  in  the  dark. 
.  .  .  And  now  I  must  go.  But  I  shall  come  again 
very  soon." 

She  smiled  shyly  and  held  out  her  lovely  little 
hand,  " — As  Tressa  tells  me  is  your  custom  in  Amer- 
ica," she  said,  "I  offer  you  a  good-bye." 

He  took  her  hand  and  found  it  a  warm,  smooth 
thing  of  life  and  pulse. 

"Why,"  he  stammered  in  his  astonishment,  "you 
are  real!  You  are  not  a  ghost!" 

"Yes,  I  am  real,"  she  answered,  surprised,  "but 
I'm  not  in  my  body, — if  you  mean  that."  Then  she 
laughed  and  withdrew  her  hand,  and,  going,  made 
him  a  friendly  gesture. 

"Cherish,  my  lord,  my  darling  Heart  of  Fire. 
Serpents  twist  and  twine.  So  do  rose  vines.  May 
their  petals  make  your  path  of  velvet  and  sweet 
scented.  May  everything  that  is  round  be  a  pome- 
granate for  you  two  to  share ;  may  everything  that 
sways  be  lilies  bordering  a  path  wide  enough  for  two. 
In  the  name  of  the  Most  Merciful  God,  may  the 
only  cry  you  hear  be  the  first  sweet  wail  of  your  first- 
born. And  when  the  tenth  shall  be  born,  may  you 
and  Heart  of  Fire  bewail  your  fate  because  both  of 
you  desire  more  children  I" 

She  was  laughing  when  she  disappeared.  Cleves 
thought  she  was  still  there,  so  radiant  the  sunshine, 
so  sweet  the  scent  in  the  room. 

But  the  golden  shadow  by  the  door  was  empty  of 


SA-N'SA  221 

her.  If  she  had  slipped  through  the  doorway  he 
had  not  noticed  her  departure.  Yet  she  was  no 
longer  there.  And,  when  he  understood,  he  turned 
back  into  the  empty  room,  quivering  all  over.  Sud- 
denly a  terrible  need  of  Tressa  assailed  him — an  im- 
perative necessity  to  speak  to  her — hear  her  voice. 

"Tressa !"  he  called,  and  rested  his  hand  on  the 
centre  table,  feeling  weak  and  shaken  to  the  knees. 
Then  he  looked  down  and  saw  the  mulberry  leaves 
lying  scattered  there,  tender  and  green  and  still 
dewy  with  the  dew  of  China. 

"Oh,  my  God!"  he  whispered,  "such  things  are! 
It  isn't  my  mind  that  has  gone  wrong.  There  are 
such  things!" 

The  conviction  swept  him  like  a  tide  till  his 
senses  swam.  As  though  peering  through  a  mist  of 
gold  he  saw  his  wife  enter  and  come  to  him; — felt 
her  arm  about  him,  sustaining  him  where  he  swayed 
slightly  with  one  hand  on  the  table  among  the  mul- 
berry leaves. 

"Ah,"  murmured  Tressa,  noticing  the  green 
leaves,  "she  oughtn't  to  have  done  that.  That  was 
thoughtless  of  her,  to  show  herself  to  you." 

Cleves  looked  at  her  in  a  dazed  way.  "The  body 
is  nothing,"  he  muttered.  "The  rest  only  is  real. 
That  is  the  truth,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes." 

"I  seem  to  be  beginning  to  believe  it.  ...  Sansa 
said  things — I  shall  try  to  tell  you — some  day — 
dear.  .  .  .  I'm  so  glad  to  hear  your  voice." 

"Are  you?"  she  murmured. 


222  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"And  so  glad  to  feel  your  touch.  ...  I  found  a 
shroud  on  my  threshold.  And  a  knife." 

"The  Yezidees  are  becoming  mountebanks.  .  .  . 
Where  is  the  knife?"  she  asked  scornfully. 

"Sansa  said  it  was  poisoned.  She  took  it.  She 
— she  said  that  a  poisoned  heart  is  more  dangerous 
still." 

Then  Tressa  threw  up  her  head  and  called  softly 
into  space :  "Sansa !  Little  Silk-Moth !  What  are 
these  mischievous  things  you  have  told  to  my  lord?" 

She  stood  silent,  listening.  And,  in  the  answer 
which  he  could  not  hear,  there  seemed  to  be  some- 
thing that  set  his  young  wife's  cheeks  aflame. 

"Sansa!  Little  devil!"  she  cried,  exasperated. 
"May  Erlik  send  his  imps  to  pinch  you  if  you  have 
said  to  my  lord  these  shameful  things.  It  was  im- 
pudent! It  was  mischievous!  You  cover  me  with 
shame  and  confusion,  and  I  am  humbled  in  the  dust 
of  my  lord's  feet!" 

Cleves  looked  at  her,  but  she  could  not  sustain 
his  gaze. 

"Did  Sansa  say  to  you  what  she  said  to  me?"  he 
demanded  unsteadily. 

"Yes.  ...  I  ask  your  pardon.  .  .  .  And  I  had 
already  told  her  you  did  not — did  not — were  not  in 
— in  love — with  me.  ...  I  ask  your  pardon." 

"Ask  more.  .  .  .  Ask  your  heart  whether  it 
would  care  to  hear  that  I  am  in  love.  And  with 
whom.  Ask  your  heart  if  it  could  ever  care  to  listen 
to  what  my  heart  could  say  to  it." 

"Y-yes— I'll  ask— my  heart,"  she  faltered.  .  .  . 


SA-N'SA  223 

"I  think  I  had  better  finish  dressing "  She 

lifted  her  eyes,  gave  him  a  breathless  smile  as  he 
caught  her  hand  and  kissed  it. 

"It — it  would  be  very  wonderful,"  she  stammered, 
" — if  our  necessity  should  be-become  our  choice." 

But  that  speech  seemed  to  scare  her  and  she  fled, 
leaving  her  husband  standing  tense  and  upright  in 
the  middle  of  the  room. 

Their  train  on  the  New  York  Central  Railroad 
left  the  Grand  Central  Terminal  at  one  in  the  after- 
noon. 

Cleves  had  made  his  arrangements  by  wire.  They 
travelled  lightly,  carrying,  except  for  the  clothing 
they  wore,  only  camping  equipment  for  two. 

It  was  raining  in  the  Hudson  valley;  they  rushed 
through  the  outlying  towns  and  Po'keepsie  in  a  sum- 
mer downpour. 

At  Hudson  the  rain  slackened.  A  golden  mist  en- 
veloped Albany,  through  which  the  beautiful  tower 
and  facades  along  the  river  loomed,  masking  the 
huge  and  clumsy  Capitol  and  the  spires  beyond. 

At  Schenectady,  rifts  overhead  revealed  glimpses 
of  blue.  At  Amsterdam,  where  they  descended  from 
the  train,  the  flag  on  the  arsenal  across  the  Mohawk 
flickered  brilliantly  in  the  sunny  wind. 

By  telegraphic  arrangement,  behind  the  station 
waited  a  touring  car  driven  by  a  trooper  of  State 
Constabulary,  who,  with  his  comrade,  saluted  smart- 
ly as  Cleves  and  Tressa  came  up. 

There  was  a  brief,  low-voiced  conversation.  Their 


224  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

camping  outfit  was  stowed  aboard,  Tressa  sprang 
into  the  tonneau  followed  by  Cleves,  and  the  car 
started  swiftly  up  the  inclined  roadway,  turned  to 
the  right  across  the  railroad  bridge,  across  the  trol- 
ley tracks,  and  straight  on  up  the  steep  hill  paved 
with  blocks  of  granite. 

On  the  level  road  which  traversed  the  ridge  at 
last  they  speeded  up,  whizzed  past  the  great  hedged 
farm  where  racing  horses  are  bred,  rushing  through 
the  afternoon  sunshine  through  the  old-time  Scotch 
settlements  which  once  were  outposts  of  the  old  New 
York  frontier. 

Nine  miles  out  the  macadam  road  ended.  They 
veered  to  the  left  over  a  dirt  road,  through  two 
hamlets ;  then  turned  to  the  right. 

The  landscape  became  rougher.  To  their  left  lay 
the  long,  low  Maxon  hills;  behind  them  the  May* 
field  range  stretched  northward  into  the  open  jaws 
of  the  Adirondacks. 

All  around  them  were  woods,  now.  Once  a  Gate 
House  appeared  ahead;  and  beyond  it  they  crossed 
four  bridges  over  a  foaming,  tumbling  creek  whers. 
Cleves  caught  glimpses  of  shadowy  forms  in  amber- 
tinted  pools — big  yellow  trout  that  sank  unhurriedly 
out  of  sight  among  huge  submerged  boulders  wet 
with  spray. 

The  State  trooper  beside  the  chauffeur  turned  to 
Cleves,  his  purple  tie  whipping  in  the  wind. 

"Yonder  is  Glenwild,  sir,"  he  said. 

It  was  a  single  house  on  the  flank  of  a  heavily 
forested  hill.  Deep  below  to  the  left  the  creek  leaped 


SA-N'SA  225 

two  cataracts  and  went  flashing  out  through  a  belt 
of  cleared  territory  ablaze  with  late  sunshine. 

The  car  swung  into  the  farm-yard,  past  the  barn 
on  the  right,  and  continued  on  up  a  very  rough  trail. 

"This  is  the  road  to  the  Ireland  Vlaie,"  said  the 
trooper.  "It  is  possible  for  cars  for  another  mile 
only." 

Splendid  spruce,  pine,  oak,  maple,  and  hemlock 
fringed  the  swampy,  uneven  trail  which  was  no  more 
than  a  wide,  rough  vista  cut  through  the  forest. 

And,  as  the  trooper  had  said,  a  little  more  than  a 
mile  farther  the  trail  became  a  tangle  of  bushes  and 
swale;  the  car  slowed  down  and  stopped;  and  a  man 
rose  from  where  he  was  seated  on  a  mossy  log  and 
came  forward,  his  rifle  balanced  across  the  hollow 
of  his  left  arm. 

The  man  was  Alek  Selden. 

It  was  long  after  dark  and  they  were  still  travel* 
ling  through  pathless  woods  by  the  aid  of  their  elec- 
tric torches. 

There  was  little  underbrush;  the  forest  of  spruce 
and  hemlock  was  first  growth. 

Cleves  shined  the  trees  but  could  discover  no 
blazing,  no  trodden  path. 

In  explanation,  Selden  said  briefly  that  he  had 
hunted  the  territory  for  years. 

"But  I  don't  begin  to  know  it,"  he  added.  "There 
are  vast  and  ugly  regions  of  bog  and  swale  where  a 
sea  of  alders  stretches  to  the  horizon.  There  are 
desolate  wastes  of  cat-briers  and  witch-hopple  un- 


226  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

der  leprous  tangles  of  grey  birches,  where  stealthy 
little  brooks  darkle  deep  under  matted  debris.  Only 
wild  things  can  travel  such  country. 

"Then  there  are  strange,  slow-flowing  creeks  in 
the  perpetual  shadows  of  tamarack  woods,  where 
many  a  man  has  gone  in  never  to  come  out." 

"Why?"  asked  Tressa. 

"Under  the  tender  carpet  of  green  cresses  are 
shining  black  bogs  set  with  tussock;  and  under  the 
bog  stretches  quicksand, — and  death." 

"Do  you  know  these  places?"  asked  Cleves. 

"No." 

Cleves  stepped  forward  to  Tressa's  side. 

"Keep  flashing  the  ground,"  he  said  harshly.  "I 
don't  want  you  to  step  into  some  hell-hole.  I'm  sorry 
I  brought  you,  anyway." 

"But  I  had  to  come,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

Like  the  two  men,  she  wore  a  grey  flannel  shirt, 
knickers,  and  spiral  puttees. 

They,  however,  carried  rifles  as  well  as  packs; 
and  the  girl's  pack  was  lighter. 

They  had  halted  by  a  swift,  icy  rivulet  to  eat,  with- 
out building  a  fire.  After  that  they  crossed  the 
Ireland  Vlaie  and  the  main  creek,  where  remains 
of  a  shanty  stood  on  the  bluff  above  the  right  bank 
— the  last  sign  of  man. 

Beyond  lay  the  uncharted  land,  skimped  and 
shirked  entirely  in  certain  regions  by  map-makers; 
— an  unknown  wilderness  on  the  edges  of  which  Sel- 
den  had  often  camped  when  deer  shooting. 

It  was  along  this  edge  he  was  leading  them,  now, 


SA-N'SA  227 

to  a  lean-to  which  he  had  erected,  and  from  which 
he  had  travelled  in  to  Glenwild  to  use  the  superin- 
tendent's telephone  to  New  York. 

There  seemed  to  be  no  animal  life  stirring  in  this 
forest;  their  torches  illuminated  no  fiery  orbs  of 
dazed  wild  things  surprised  at  gaze  in  the  wilder- 
ness; no  leaping  furry  form  crossed  their  flashlights' 
fan-shaped  radiance. 

There  were  no  nocturnal  birds  to  be  seen  or  heard, 
either:  no  bittern  squawked  from  hidden  sloughs;  no 
herons  howled;  not  an  owl-note,  not  a  whispering 
cry  of  a  whippoorwill,  not  the  sudden  uncanny  twit- 
ter of  those  little  birds  that  become  abruptly  vocal 
after  dark,  interrupted  the  dense  stillness  of  the 
forest. 

And  it  was  not  until  his  electric  torch  glimmered 
repeatedly  upon  reaches  of  dusk-hidden  bog  that 
Cleves  understood  how  Selden  took  his  bearings — 
for  the  night  was  thick  and  there  were  no  stars. 

"Yes,"  said  Selden  tersely,  "I'm  trying  to  skirt 
the  bog  until  I  shine  a  peeled  stick." 

An  hour  later  the  peeled  alder-stem  glittered  in 
the  beam  of  the  torches.  In  ten  minutes  something 
white  caught  the  electric  rays. 

It  was  Selden's  spare  undershirt  drying  on  a  bush 
behind  the  lean-to. 

"Can  we  have  a  fire?"  asked  Cleves,  relieving  his 
wife  of  her  pack  and  striding  into  the  open-faced 
camp. 


228  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"Yes,  I'll  fix  it,"  replied  Selden.  "Are  you  all 
right,  Mrs.  Cleves?" 

Tressa  said:  "Delightfully  tired,  thank  you."  And 
smiled  faintly  at  her  husband  as  he  let  go  his  own 
pack,  knelt,  and  spread  a  blanket  for  his  wife. 

He  remained  there,  kneeling,  as  she  seated  herself. 

"Are  you  quite  fit?"  he  asked  bluntly.  Yet, 
through  his  brusqueness  her  ear  caught  a  vague 
undertone  of  something  else — anxiety  perhaps — per- 
haps tenderness.  And  her  heart  stirred  deliciously 
in  her  breast. 

He  inflated  a  pillow  for  her ;  the  firelight  glim* 
mered,  brightened,  spread  glowing  across  her  feet. 
She  lay  back  with  a  slight  sigh,  relaxed. 

Then,  suddenly,  the  thrill  of  her  husband's  touch 
flooded  her  face  with  colour;  but  she  lay  motionless, 
one  arm  flung  across  her  eyes,  while  he  unrolled  her 
puttees  and  unlaced  her  muddy  shoes. 

A  heavenly  warmth  from  the  fire  dried  her  stock- 
inged feet.  Later,  on  the  edge  of  sleep,  she  opened 
her  eyes  and  found  herself  propped  upright  on  her 
husband's  shoulder. 

Drowsily,  obediently  she  swallowed  spoonfuls  of 
the  hot  broth  which  he  administered. 

"Are  you  really  quite  comfortable,  dear?"  he 
whispered. 

"Wonderfully.  .  .  .  And  so  very  happy.  .  .  . 
Thank  you — dear." 

She  lay  back,  suffering  him  to  bathe  her  face  and 
hands  with  warm  water. 

When  the  fire  was  only  a  heap  of  dying  coals,  she 


SA-N'SA  229 

turned  over  on  her  right  side  and  extended  her  hand 
a  little  way  into  the  darkness.  Searching,  half  asleep, 
she  touched  her  husband,  and  her  hand  relaxed  in 
his  nervous  clasp.  And  she  fell  into  the  most  perfect 
sleep  which  she  had  known  in  years. 

She  dreamed  that  somebody  whispered  to  her, 
"Darling,  darling,  wake  up.  It  is  morning,  be- 
loved." 

Suddenly  she  opened  her  eyes;  and  saw  her  hus- 
band set  a  tray,  freshly  plaited  out  of  Indian  willow, 
beside  her  blanket. 

"Here's  your  breakfast,  pretty  lady,"  he  said, 
smilingly.  "And  over  there  is  an  exceedingly  frigid 
pool  of  water.  You're  to  have  the  camp  to  yourself 
for  the  next  hour  or  two." 

"You  dear  fellow,"  she  murmured,  still  confused 
by  sleep,  and  reached  out  to  touch  his  hand.  He 
caught  hers  and  kissed  it,  back  and  palm,  and  got 
up  hastily  as  though  scared. 

"Selden  and  I  will  stand  sentry,"  he  muttered. 
"There  is  no  hurry,  you  know." 

She  heard  him  and  his  comrade  walking  away 
over  dried  leaves;  their  steps  receded;  a  dry  stick 
cracked  distantly;  then  silence  stealthily  invaded  the 
place  like  a  cautious  living  thing,  creeping  unseen 
through  the  golden  twilight  of  the  woods. 

Seated  in  her  blanket,  she  drank  the  coffee;  ate  a 
little;  then  lay  down  again  in  the  early  sun,  feeling 
the  warmth  of  the  heap  of  whitening  coals  at  her 
feet,  also. 


230  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

For  an  hour  she  dozed  awake,  drowsily  opening 
her  eyes  now  and  then  to  look  across  the  glade  at 
the  pool  over  which  a  single  dragon-fly  glittered  on 
guard. 

Finally  she  rose  resolutely,  grasped  a  bit  of  soap, 
and  went  down  to  the  edge  of  the  pool. 

Tressa  was  in  flannel  shirt  and  knickers  when  her 
husband  and  Selden  hailed  the  camp  and  presently 
appeared  walking  slowly  toward  the  dead  fire. 

Their  grave  faces  checked  her  smile  of  greeting; 
her  husband  came  up  and  laid  one  hand  on  her  arm, 
looking  at  her  out  of  thoughtful,  preoccupied  eyes. 

"What  is  the  Tchordagh?"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

The  girl's  quiet  face  went  white. 

"The — the  Tchordagh!"  she  stammered. 

"Yes,  dear.    What  is  it?" 

"I  don't — don't  know  where  you  heard  that 
term,"  she  whispered.  "The  Tchordagh  is  the — 
the  power  of  Erlik.  It  is  a  term.  ...  In  it  is 
comprehended  all  the  evil,  all  the  cunning,  all  the 
perverted  spiritual  intelligence  of  Evil, — its  sinister 
might, — its  menace.  It  is  an  Alouad-Yezidee  term, 
and  it  is  written  in  brass  in  Eighur  characters  on  the 
Eight  Towers,  and  on  the  Rampart  of  Gog  and 
Magog; — nowhere  else  in  the  world!" 

"It  is  written  on  a  pine  tree  a  few  paces  from  this 
camp,"  said  Cleves  absently. 

Selden  said:  "It  has  not  been  there  more  than  an 
hour  or  two,  Mrs.  Cleves.  A  square  of  bark  was 


SA-N'SA  231 

cut  out  and  on  the  white  surface  of  the  wood  this 
word  is  written  in  English." 

"Can  you  tell  us  what  it  signifies?"  asked  Cleves, 
quietly. 

Tressa's  studied  effort  at  self-control  was  apparent 
to  both  men. 

She  said:  "When  that  word  is  written,  then  it  is 
a  death  struggle  between  all  the  powers  of  Darkness 
and  those  who  have  read  the  written  letters  of  that 
word.  .  .  .  For  it  is  written  in  The  Iron  Book  that 
no  one  but  the  Assassin  of  Khorassan — excepting 
the  Eight  Sheiks — shall  read  that  written  word  and 
live  to  boast  of  having  read  it." 

"Let  us  sit  here  and  talk  it  over,"  said  Selden 
soberly. 

And  when  Tressa  was  seated  on  a  fallen  log,  and 
Cleves  settled  down  cross-legged  at  her  feet,  Selden 
spoke  again,  very  soberly: 

"On  the  edges  of  these  woods,  to  the  northwest, 
lies  a  sea  of  briers,  close  growing,  interwoven  and 
matted,  strong  and  murderous  as  barbed  wire. 

"Miles  out  in  this  almost  impenetrable  region  lies 
a  patch  of  trees  called  Fool's  Acre. 

"At  Wells  I  heard  that  the  only  man  who  had 
ever  managed  to  reach  Fool's  Acre  was  a  trapper, 
and  that  he  was  still  living. 

"I  found  him  at  Rainbow  Lake — a  very  old  man, 
who  had  a  fairly  clear  recollection  of  Fool's  Acre 
and  his  exhausting  journey  there. 

"And  he  told  me  that  man  had  been  there  before 
he  had.  For  there  was  a  roofless  stone  house  there, 


232  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

and  the  remains  of  a  walled  garden.  And  a  skull 
deep  in  the  wild  grasses." 

Selden  paused  and  looked  down  at  the  recently 
healed  scars  on  his  wrists  and  hands. 

"It  was  a  rotten  trip,"  he  said  bluntly.  "It  took 
me  three  days  to  cut  a  tunnel  through  that  accursed 
tangle  of  matted  brier  and  grey  birch.  .  .  .  Fool's 
Acre  is  a  grove  of  giant  trees — first  growth  pine, 
oak,  and  maple.  Great  outcrops  of  limestone  ledges 
bound  it  on  the  east.  A  brook  runs  through  the 
woods. 

"There  is  a  house  there,  no  longer  roofless,  and 
built  of  slabs  of  fossil-pitted  limestone.  The  glass  in 
the  windows  is  so  old  that  it  is  iridescent. 

"A  seven-foot  wall  encloses  the  house,  built  also 
of  slabs  blasted  out  of  the  rock  outcrop,  and  all 
pitted  with  fossil  shells. 

"Inside  is  a  garden — not  the  remains  of  one — a 
beautiful  garden  full  of  unfamiliar  flowers.  And 
in  this  garden  I  saw  the  Yezidee  on  his  knees  making 
living  things  out  of  lumps  of  dead  earth!" 

"The  Tchordagh!"  whispered  the  girl. 

"What  was  the  Yezidee  doing?"  demanded 
Cleves  nervously. 

Involuntarily  all  three  drew  nearer  each  other 
there  in  the  sunshine. 

"It  was  difficult  for  me  to  see,"  said  Selden  in  his 
quiet,  serious  voice.  "It  was  nearly  twilight:  I  lay 
flat  on  top  of  the  wall  under  the  curving  branches  of 
a  huge  syringa  bush  in  full  bloom.  The  Yezi- 
dees " 


SA-N'SA  3S3 

"Were  there  two!"  exclaimed  Clever 

"Two.  They  were  squatting  on  the  old  stone  patK 
bordering  one  of  the  flower-beds."  He  turned  to 
Tressa:  "They  both  wore  white  cloths  twisted 
around  their  heads,  and  long  soft  garments  of  white. 
Under  these  their  bare,  brown  legs  showed,  but 
they  wore  things  on  their  naked  feet  which  were 
shaped  like  what  we  call  Turkish  slippers — only  dif- 
ferent." 

"Black  and  green,"  nodded  Tressa  with  the  vagiUt 
horror  growing  in  her  face. 

"Yes.  The  soles  of  their  shoes  were  bright 
green." 

"Green  is  the  colour  sacred  to  Islam,"  saidTressa. 
"The  priests  of  Satan  defile  it  by  staining  with  green 
the  soles  of  their  footwear." 

After  an  interval:  "Go  on,"  said  Cleves  ner- 
vously. 

Selden  drew  closer,  and  they  bent  their  heads  to 
listen : 

"I  don't,  even  now,  know  what  the  Yezidees  were 
actually  doing.  In  the  twilight  it  was  hard  to  see 
clearly.  But  I'll  tell  you  what  it  looked  like  to  me. 
One  of  these  squatting  creatures  would  scoop  out  a 
handful  of  soil  from  the  flower-bed,  and  mould  it 
for  a  few  moments  between  his  lean,  sinewy  fingers, 
and  then  he'd  open  his  hands  and — and  something 
alive — something  small  like  a  rat  or  a  toad,  or  God 
knows  what,  would  escape  from  between  his  palms 
and  run  out  into  the  grass " 


234  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

Selden's  voice  failed  and  he  looked  at  Cleves  with 
sickened  eyes. 

"I  can't — can't  make  you  understand  how  repul- 
sive to  me  it  was  to  see  a  wriggling  live  thing  creep 
out  between  their  fingers  and — and  go  running  or 
scrambling  away — little  loathsome  things  with 
humpy  backs  that  hopped  or  scurried  through  the 
grass " 

"What  on  earth  were  these  Yezidees  doing, 
Tressa?"  asked  Cleves  almost  roughly. 

The  girl's  white  face  was  marred  by  the  imprints 
of  deepening  horror. 

"It  is  the  Tchor-Dagh,"  she  said  mechanically. 
"They  are  using  every  resource  of  hell  to  destroy 
me — testing  the  gigantic  power  of  Evil — as  though 
it  were  some  vast  engine  charged  with  thunderous 
destruction ! — and  they  were  testing  it  to  discover  its 
terrific  capacity  to  annihilate " 

Her  voice  died  in  her  dry  throat;  she  dropped  her 
bloodless  visage  into  both  hands  and  remained 
seated  so. 

Both  men  looked  at  her  in  silence,  not  daring  to 
interfere.  Finally  the  girl  lifted  her  pallid  face  from 
her  hands. 

AThat  is  what  they  were  doing,"  she  said  in  a 
dull  voice.  "Out  of  inanimate  earth  they  were 
making  things  animate — living  creatures — to — to 
test  the  hellish  power  which  they  are  storing — con- 
centrating— for  my  destruction." 

"What  is  their  purpose?"  asked  Cleves  harshly. 
"What  do  these  Mongol  Sorcerers  expect  to  gain 


SA-N'SA  235 

by  making  little  live  things  out  of  lumps  of  garden 
dirt?" 

"They  are  testing  their  power,"  whispered  the 
girl. 

"Like  tuning  up  a  huge  machine?"  muttered 
Selden. 

"Yes." 

"For  what  purpose?" 

"To  make  larger  living  creatures  out  of — of 
clay." 

"They  can't — they  can't  create!"  exclaimed 
Cleves.  "I  don't  know  how — by  what  filthy  tricks 
— they  make  rats  out  of  dirt.  But  they  can't  make 
a — anything — like  a — like  a  man!" 

Tressa's  body  trembled  slightly. 

"Once,"  she  said,  "in  the  temple,  Prince  Sanang 
took  dust  which  was  brought  in  sacks  of  goat-skin, 
and  fashioned  the  heap  of  dirt  with  his  hands,  so 
that  it  resembled  the  body  of  a  man  lying  there  on 
the  marble  floor  under  the  shrine  of  Erlik.  .  .  .  And 
— and  then,  there  in  the  shadows  where  only  the 
Dark  Star  burned — that  black  lamp  which  is  called 
the  Dark  Star — the  long  heap  of  dust  lying  there  on 
the  marble  pavement  began  to — to  breathe! — " 

She  pressed  both  hands  over  her  breast  as  though 
to  control  her  trembling  body:  "I  saw  it;  I  saw  the 
long  shape  of  dust  begin  to  breathe,  to  stir,  move, 
and  slowly  lift  itself "  ^ 

"A  Yezidee  trick!"  gasped  Cleves;  but  he  also  was 
trembling  now. 

"God!"  whispered  the  girl.     "Allah  alone  knows 


236  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

— the  Merciful,  the  Long  Suffering — He  knows 
what  it  was  that  we  temple  girls  saw  there — that 
Yulun  saw — that  Sa-n'sa  and  I  beheld  there  rising 
up  like  a  man  from  the  marble  floor — and  standing 
erect  in  the  shadowy  twilight  of  the  Dark 
Star.  .  .  ." 

Her  hands  gripped  at  her  breast;  her  face  was 
deathly. 

"Then,"  she  said,  "I  saw  Prince  Sanang  draw  his 
sabre  of  Indian  steel,  and  he  struck  .  .  .  once  only. 
.  .  .  And  a  dead  man  fell  down  where  the  thing  had 
stood.  And  all  the  marble  was  flooded  with  scarlet 
blood." 

"A  trick,"  repeated  Cleves,  in  the  ghost  of  his  own 
voice.  But  his  gaze  grew  vacant. 

Presently  Selden  spoke  in  tones  that  sounded 
weakly  querulous  from  emotional  reaction: 

"There  is  a  path — a  tunnel  under  the  matted 
briers.  It  took  me  more  than  a  week  to  cut  it  out. 
It  is  possible  to  reach  Fool's  Acre.  We  can  try — • 
with  our  rifles — if  you  say  so,  Mrs.  Cleves." 

The  girl  looked  up.  A  little  colour  came  into  her 
cheeks.  She  shook  her  head. 

"Their  bodies  may  not  be  there  in  the  garden," 
she  said  absently.  "What  you  saw  may  not  have 
been  that  part  of  them — the  material  which  dies  by 
knife  or  bullet.  .  .  .  And  it  is  necessary  that  these 
Yezidees  should  die." 

"Can  you  do  anything?"  asked  Cleves,  hoarsely. 

She  looked  at  her  husband;  tried  to  smile: 


SA-N'SA  237 

"I  must  try.  ...  I  think  we  had  better  not  lose 
any  time — if  Mr.  Selden  will  lead  us." 

"Now?" 

"Yes,  we  had  better  go,  I  think,"  said  the  girl. 
Her  smile  still  remained  stamped  on  her  lips,  but 
her  eyes  seemed  preoccupied  as  though  following 
the  movements  of  something  remote  that  was  passing 
across  the  far  horizon. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A  DEATH  TRAIL 

THE  way  to  Fool's  Acre  was  under  a  tangled 
canopy  of  thorns,  under  rotting  windfalls  of 
grey  mirch,  through  tunnel  after  tunnel  of 
fallen  debris  woven  solidly  by  millions  of  strands  of 
tough  cat-briers  which  cut  the  flesh  like  barbed  wire. 

There  was  blood  on  Tressa,  where  her  flannel 
shirt  had  been  pierced  in  a  score  of  places.  Cleves 
and  Selden  had  been  painfully  slashed. 

Silent,  thread-like  streams  flowed  darkling  under 
the  tangled  mass  that  roofed  them.  Sometimes  they 
could  move  upright;  more  often  they  were  bent 
double;  and  there  were  long  stretches  where  they 
had  to  creep  forward  on  hands  and  knees  through 
sparse  wild  grasses,  soft,  rotten  soil,  or  paths  of 
sphagnum  which  cooled  their  feverish  skin  in  vel- 
vety, icy  depths. 

At  noon  they  rested  and  ate,  lying  prone  under 
the  matted  roof  of  their  tunnel. 

Cleves  and  Selden  had  their  rifles.  Tressa  lay  like 
a  slender  boy,  her  brier-torn  hands  empty. 

And,  as  she  lay  there,  her  husband  made  a  sponge 
of  a  handful  of  sphagnum  moss,  and  bathed  her 
face  and  her  arms,  cleansing  the  dried  blood  from 
238 


A  DEATH  TRAIL  239 

the  skin,  while  the  girl  looked  up  at  him  out  of 
grave,  inscrutable  eyes. 

The  sun  hung  low  over  the  wilderness  when  they 
came  to  the  woods  of  Fool's  Acre.  They  crept  cau- 
tiously out  of  the  briers,  among  ferns  and  open  spots 
carpeted  with  pine  needles  and  dead  leaves  which 
were  beginning  to  burn  ruddy  gold  under  the  level 
rays  of  the  sun. 

Lying  flat  behind  an  enormous  oak,  they  remained 
listening  for  a  while.  Selden  pointed  through  the 
woods,  eastward,  whispering  that  the  house  stood 
there  not  far  away. 

"Don't  you  think  we  might  risk  the  chance  and 
use  our  rifles?"  asked  Cleves  in  a  low  voice. 

"No.  It  is  the  Tchor-Dagh  that  confronts  us. 
I  wish  to  talk  to  Sansa,"  she  murmured. 

A  moment  later  Selden  touched  her  arm. 

"My  God,"  he  breathed,  "who  is  that!" 

"It  is  Sansa,"  said  Tressa  calmly,  and  sat  up 
among  the  ferns.  And  the  next  instant  Sansa  stepped 
daintily  out  of  the  red  sunlight  and  seated  herself 
among  them  without  a  sound. 

Nobody  spoke.  The  newcomer  glanced  at  Selden, 
smiled  slightly,  blushed,  then  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Cleves  where  he  lay  in  the  brake,  and  a  mischievous 
glimmer  came  into  her  slanting  eyes. 

"Did  I  not  tell  my  lord  truths?"  she  inquired  in  a 
demure  whisper.  "As  surely  as  the  sun  is  a  dragon, 
and  the  flaming  pearl  burns  between  his  claws,  so 
surely  burns  the  soul  of  Heart  of  Flame  between  thy 


240  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

guarding  hands.  There  are  as  many  words  as  there 
are  demons,  my  lord,  but  it  is  written  that  Niaz  is 
the  greatest  of  all  words  save  only  the  name  of 
God." 

She  laughed  without  any  sound,  sweetly  malicious 
where  she  sat  among  the  ferns. 

"Heart  of  Flame,"  she  said  to  Tressa,  "you  called 
me  and  I  made  the  effort.'' 

"Darling,"  said  Tressa  in  her  thrilling  voice,  "the 
Yezidees  are  making  living  things  out  of  dust, — as 
Sanang  No'iane  made  that  thing  in  the  Temple.  .  .  . 
And  slew  it  before  our  eyes." 

"The  Tchor-Dagh,"  said  Sansa  calmly. 

"The  Tchor-Dagh,"  whispered  Tressa. 

Sansa's  smooth  little  hands  crept  up  to  the  collar 
of  her  odd,  blue  tunic;  grasped  it. 

"In  the  name  of  God  the  Merciful,"  she  said 
without  a  tremor,  "listen  to  me,  Heart  of  Flame,  and 
may  my  soul  be  ransom  for  yours!" 

"I  hear  you,  Sansa." 

Sansa  said,  her  fingers  still  grasping  the  em- 
broidered collar  of  her  tunic: 

"Yonder,  behind  walls,  two  Tower  Chiefs  meddle 
with  the  Tchor-Dagh,  making  living  things  out  of 
the  senseless  .dust  they  scrape  from  the  garden." 

Selden  moistened  his  dry  lips.    Sansa  said: 

"The  Yezidees  who  have  come  into  this  wilder- 
ness are  Arrak  Sou-Sou,  the  Squirrel;  and  Tiyang 
Khan.  .  .  .  May  God  remember  them  in  Hell!" 

"May  God  remember  them,"  said  Tressa  me- 
chanically. 


A  DEATH  TRAIL  241 

"And  these  two  Yezidee  Sorcerers,"  continued 
Sansa  coolly,  "have  advanced  thus  far  in  the  Tchor- 
Dagh ;  for  they  now  roam  these  woods,  digging  like 
demons  for  the  roots  of  Ginseng;  and  thou  knowest, 

0  Heart  of  Flame,  what  that  indicates." 

"Does  Ginseng  grow  in  these  woods!"  exclaimed 
Tressa  with  a  new  terror  in  her  widening  eyes. 

"Ginseng  grows  here,  little  Rose-Heart,  and  the 
roots  are  as  perfect  as  human  bodies.  And  Tiyang 
Khan  squats  in  the  walled  garden  moulding  the  Gin- 
seng roots  in  his  unclean  hands,  while  Sou-Sou  the 
Squirrel  scratches  among  the  dead  leaves  of  the 
woods  for  roots  as  perfect  as  a  naked  human  body. 

"All  day  long  the  Sou-Sou  rummages  among  the 
trees;  all  day  longTiyang  pats  and  rubs  and  moulds 
the  Ginseng  roots  in  his  skinny  fingers.  It  is  the 
Tchor-Dagh,  Heart  of  Flame.  And  these  Sorcerers 
must  be  destroyed." 

"Are  their  bodies  here?" 

"Arrak  is  in  the  body.  And  thus  it  shall  be  ac- 
complished: listen  attentively,  Rose  Heart  Afire! — 

1  shall  remain  here  with "  she  looked  at  Selden 

and  flushed  a  trifle,  " — with  you,  my  lord.     And 
when  the  Squirrel  comes  a-digging,  so  shall  my  lord 
slay  him  with  a  bullet.  .  .  .  And  when  I  hear  his 
soul  bidding  his  body  farewell,  then  I  shall  make 
prisoner  his  soul.  .  .  .  And  send  it  to  the  Dark  Star. 
.  .  .  And  the  rest  shall  be  in  the  hands  of  Allah." 

She  turned  to  Tressa  and  caught  her  hands  in 
both  of  her  own: 

"It  is  written  on  the  Iron  Pages,"  she  whispered, 


242  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"that  we  belong  to  Erlik  and  we  return  to  him.  But 
in  the  Book  of  Gold  it  is  written  otherwise:  'God 
preserve  us  from  Satan  who  was  stoned!'  .  .  . 
Therefore,  in  the  name  of  Allah !  Now  then,  Heart 
of  Flame,  do  your  duty!" 

A  burning  flush  leaped  over  Tressa's  features. 

"Is  my  soul,  then,  my  own!" 

"It  belongs  to  God,"  said  Sansa  gravely. 

"And— Sanang?" 

"God  is  greatest." 

"But — was  God  there — at  the  Lake  of  the 
Ghosts?" 

"God  is  everywhere.  It  is  so  written  in  the  Book 
of  Gold,"  replied  Sansa,  pressing  her  hands  ten- 
derly. 

"Recite  the  Fatha,  Heart  of  Flame.  Thy  lips 
shall  not  stiffen;  God  listens." 

Tressa  rose  in  the  sunset  glory  and  stood  as 
though  dazed,  and  all  crimsoned  in  the  last  fiery 
bars  of  the  declining  sun. 

Cleves  also  rose. 

Sansa  laughed  noiselessly:  "My  lord  would  go 
whither  thou  goest,  Heart  of  Fire  I"  she  whispered. 
"And  thy  ways  shall  be  his  ways!" 

Tressa's  cheeks  flamed  and  she  turned  and  looked 
at  Cleves. 

Then  Sansa  rose  and  laid  a  hand  on  Tressa's  arm 
and  on  her  husband's: 

"Listen  attentively.  Tiyang  Khan  must  be 
destroyed.  The  signal  sounds  when  my  lord's  rifle- 
shot makes  a  loud  noise  here  among  these  trees." 


A  DEATH  TRAIL  243 

"Can  I  prevail  against  the  Tchor-Dagh?"  asked 
Tressa,  steadily. 

"Is  not  that  event  already  in  God's  hands,  dar- 
ling?" said  Sansa  softly.  She  smiled  and  resumed 
her  seat  beside  Selden,  amid  the  drooping  fern 
fronds. 

"Bid  thy  dear  lord  leave  his  rifle  here,"  she  added 
quietly. 

Cleves  laid  down  his  weapon.  Selden  pointed 
eastward  in  silence. 

So  they  went  together  into  the  darkening  woods. 

In  the  dusk  of  heavy  foliage  overhanging  the 
garden,  Tressa  lay  flat  as  a  lizard  on  the  top  of  the 
wall.  Beside  her  lay  her  husband. 

In  the  garden  below  them  flowers  bloomed  in 
scented  thickets,  bordered  by  walks  of  flat  stone 
slabs  split  from  boulders.  A  little  lawn,  very  green, 
centred  the  garden. 

And  on  this  lawn,  in  the  clear  twilight  still  tinged 
with  the  sombre  fires  of  sundown,  squatted  a  man 
dressed  in  a  loose  white  garment. 

Save  for  a  twisted  breadth  of  white  cloth,  his 
shaven  head  was  bare.  His  sinewy  feet  were  naked, 
too,  the  lean,  brown  toes  buried  in  the  grass. 

Tressa's  lips  touched  her  husband's  ear. 

"Tiyang  Khan,"  she  breathed.  "Watch  what  he 
does  I" 

Shoulder  to  shoulder  they  lay  there,  scarcely 
daring  to  breathe.  Their  eyes  were  fastened  on  the 
Mongol  Sorcerer,  who,  squatted  below  on  his 


244  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

haunches,  grave  and  deliberate  as  a  great  grey  ape, 
continued  busy  with  the  obscure  business  which  so 
intently  preoccupied  him. 

In  a  short  semi-circle  on  the  grass  in  front  of  him 
he  had  placed  a  dozen  wild  Ginseng  roots.  The 
roots  were  enormous,  astoundingly  shaped  like  the 
human  body,  almost  repulsive  in  their  weird  sym- 
metry. 

The  Yezidee  had  taken  one  of  these  roots  into  his 
hands.  Squatting  there  in  the  semi-dusk,  he  began 
to  massage  it  between  his  long,  muscular  fingers, 
rubbing,  moulding,  pressing  the  root  with  caressing 
deliberation. 

His  unhurried  manipulation,  for  a  few  moments, 
seemed  to  produce  no  result.  But  presently  the  Gin- 
seng root  became  lighter  in  colour  and  more  supple, 
yielding  to  his  fingers,  growing  ivory  pale,  sinuously 
limber  in  a  newer  and  more  delicate  symmetry. 

"Look!"  gasped  Cleves,  grasping  his  wife's  arm. 
'What  is  that  man  doing!" 

'The  Tchor-Dagh  I"  whispered  Tressa.  "Do  you 
see  what  lies  twisting  there  in  his  hands !" 

The  Ginseng  root  had  become  the  tiny  naked 
body  of  a  woman — a  little  ivory-white  creature, 
struggling  to  escape  between  the  hands  that  had 
created  it — dark,  powerful,  masterly  hands,  open- 
ing leisurely  now,  and  releasing  the  living  being  they 
had  fashioned. 

The  thing  scrambled  between  the  fingers  of  the 
Sorcerer,  leaped  into  the  grass,  ran  a  little  way  and 


A  DEATH  TRAIL  245 

hid,  crouched  down,  panting,  almost  hidden  by  the 
long  grass.  The  shocked  watchers  on  the  wall  could 
still  see  the  creature.  Tressa  felt  Cleves'  body  trem- 
bling beside  her.  She  rested  a  cool,  steady  hand 
on  his. 

"It  is  the  Tchor-Dagh,"  she  breathed  close  to  his 
face.  "The  Mongol  Sorcerer  is  becoming  for- 
midable." 

"Oh,  God!"  murmured  Cleves,  "that  thing  he 
made  is  alive!  I  saw  it.  I  can  see  it  hiding  there  in 
the  grass.  It's  frightened — breathing!  It's  alive!" 

His  pistol,  clutched  in  his  right  hand,  quivered. 
His  wife  laid  her  hand  on  it  and  cautiously  shook 
her  head. 

"No,"  she  said,  "that  is  of  no  use." 

"But  what  that  Yezidee  is  doing  is — is  blas- 
phemous  " 

"Watch  him!  His  mind  is  stealthily  feeling  its 
way  among  the  laws  and  secrets  of  the  Tchor-Dagh. 
He  has  found  a  thread.  He  is  following  it  through 
the  maze  into  hell's  own  labyrinth !  He  has  created 
a  tiny  thing  in  the  image  of  the  Creator.  He  will 
try  to  create  a  larger  being  now.  Watch  him  with 
his  Ginseng  roots!" 

Tiyang,  looming  ape-like  on  his  haunches  in  the 
deepening  dusk,  moulded  and  massaged  che  Gin- 
seng roots,  one  after  another.  And  one  after 
another,  tiny  naked  creatures  wriggled  out  of  his 
palms  between  his  fingers  and  scuttled  away  into  the 
herbage. 


24,6  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

Already  the  dim  lawn  was  alive  with  them,  crawl- 
ing, scurrying  through  the  grass,  creeping  in  among 
the  flower-beds,  little,  ghostly-white  things  that  glim- 
mered from  shade  into  shadow  like  moonbeams. 

Tressa's  mouth  touched  her  husband's  ear: 

"It  is  for  the  secret  of  Destruction  that  the  Yezi- 
dee  seeks.  But  first  he  must  learn  the  secret  of 
creation.  He  is  learning.  .  .  .  And  he  must  learn 
no  more  than  he  has  already  learned." 

"That  Yezidee  is  a  living  man.    Shall  I  fire?" 

"No." 

"I  can  kill  him  with  the  first  shot." 

"Hark!"  she  whispered  excitedly,  her  hand  clos- 
ing convulsively  on  her  husband's  arm. 

The  whip-crack  of  a  rifle-shot  still  crackled  in 
their  ears. 

Tiyang  had  leaped  to  his  feet  in  the  dusk,  a  Gin- 
seng root,  half-alive,  hanging  from  one  hand  and 
beginning  to  squirm. 

Suddenly  the  first  moonbeam  fell  across  the  wall. 
And  in  its  lustre  Tressa  rose  to  her  knees  and  flung 
up  her  right  hand. 

Then  it  was  as  though  her  palm  caught  and  re- 
flected the  moon's  ray,  and  hurled  it  in  one  blinding 
shaft  straight  into  the  dark  visage  of  Tiyang-Khan. 

The  Yezidee  fell  as  though  he  had  been  pierced 
by  a  shaft  of  steel,  and  lay  sprawling  there  on  the 
grass  in  the  ghastly  glare. 

And  where  his  features  had  been  there  gaped 
only  a  hole  into  the  head. 


A  DEATH  TRAIL  247 

Then  a  dreadful  thing  occurred;  for  everywhere 
the  grass  swarmed  with  the  little  naked  creatures  he 
had  made,  running,  scrambling,  scuttling,  darting 
into  the  black  hole  which  had  been  the  face  of  Ti- 
yang-Khan. 

They  poured  into  the  awful  orifice,  crowding,  jost- 
ling one  another  so  violently  that  the  head  jerked 
from  side  to  side  on  the  grass,  a  wabbling,  inert, 
soggy  mass  in  the  moonlight. 

And  presently  the  body  of  Tiyang-Khan,  Warden 
of  the  Rampart  of  Gog  and  Magog,  and  Lord  of 
the  Seventh  Tower,  began  to  burn  with  white  fire — 
a  low,  glimmering  combustion  that  seemed  to  clothe 
the  limbs  like  an  incandescent  mist. 

On  the  wall  knelt  Tressa,  the  glare  from  her  lifted 
hand  streaming  over  the  burning  form  below. 

Cleves  stood  tall  and  shadowy  beside  his  wife,  the 
useless  pistol  hanging  in  his  grasp. 

Then,  in  the  silence  of  the  woods,  and  very  near, 
they  heard  Sansa  laughing.  And  Selden's  anxious 
voice : 

"Arrak  is  dead.  The  Sou-Sou  hangs  across  a 
rock,  head  down,  like  a  shot  squirrel.  Is  all  well 
with  you?" 

"Tiyang  is  on  his  way  to  his  star,"  said  Tressa 
calmly.  "Somewhere  in  the  world  his  body  has  bid 
its  mind  farewell.  .  .  .  And  so  his  body  may  live 
for  a  little,  blind,  in  mental  darkness,  fed  by  others, 
and  locked  in  all  day,  all  night,  until  the  end." 

Sansa,  at  the  base  of  the  wall,  turned  to  Selden. 


248  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"Shall  I  bring  my  body  with  me,  one  day,  my 
lord?"  she  asked  demurely. 

"Oh,  Sansa "  he  whispered,  but  she  placed 

a  fragrant  hand  across  his  lips  and  laughed  at  him 
in  the  moonlight. 


CHAPTER  XV 

IN  THE  FIRELIGHT 

IN  1920  the  whole  spiritual  world  was  trembling 
under  the  thundering  shock  of  the  Red  Surf 
pounding  the  frontiers  of  civilisation  from  pole 
to  pole. 

Up  out  of  the  hell-pit  of  Asia  had  boiled  the 
molten  flood,  submerging  Russia,  dashing  in  giant 
waves  over  Germany  and  Austria,  drenching  Italy, 
France,  England  with  its  bloody  spindrift. 

And  now  the  Red  Rain  was  sprinkling  the  United 
States  from  coast  to  coast,  and  the  mindless  ad- 
ministration, scared  out  of  its  stupidity  at  last,  began 
a  frantic  attempt  to  drain  the  country  of  the  filthy 
flood  and  throw  up  barriers  against  the  threatened 
deluge. 

In  every  state  and  city  Federal  agents  made  whole- 
sale arrests — too  late! 

A  million  minds  had  already  been  perverted  and 
dominated  by  the  terrible  Sect  of  the  Assassins. 
A  million  more  were  sickening  under  the  awful 
psychic  power  of  the  Yezidee. 

Thousands  of  the  disciples  of  the  Yezidee  devil- 
worshipers  had  already  been  arrested  and  held  for 
deportation, — poor,  wretched  creatures  whose  minds 
249 


250  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

were  no  longer  their  own,  but  had  been  stealthily 
surprised,  seized  and  mastered  by  Mongol  adepts 
and  filled  with  ferocious  hatred  against  their  fellow 
men. 

Yet,  of  the  Eight  Yezidee  Assassins  only  two  now 
remained  alive  in  America, — Togrul,  and  Sanang, 
the  Slayer  of  Souls. 

Yarghouz  was  dead;  Djamouk  the  Fox,  Kahn  of 
the  Fifth  Tower  was  dead;  Yaddin-ed-Din,  Arrak 
the  Sou-Sou,  Gutchlug,  Tiyang  Khan,  all  were  dead. 
Six  Towers  had  become  dark  and  silent.  From  them 
the  last  evil  thought,  the  last  evil  shape  had  sped; 
the  last  wicked  prayer  had  been  said  to  Erlik, 
Khagan  of  all  Darkness. 

But  his  emissary  on  earth,  Prince  Sanang,  still 
lived.  And  at  Sanang' s  heels  stole  Togrul,  Tougtchi 
to  Sanang  Noiane,  the  Slayer  of  Souls. 

In  the  United  States  there  had  been  a  cessation 
of  the  active  campaign  of  violence  toward  those  in 
authority.  Such  unhappy  dupes  of  the  Yezidees  as 
the  I.  W.  W.  and  other  radicals  were,  for  the  time, 
physically  quiescent.  Crude  terrorism  with  its  more 
brutal  outrages  against  life  and  law  ceased.  But 
two  million  sullen  eyes,  in  which  all  independent 
human  thought  had  been  extinguished,  watched  un- 
blinking the  wholesale  arrests  by  the  government — 
watched  panic-stricken  officials  rushing  hither  and 
thither  to  execute  the  mandate  of  a  miserable  ad- 
ministration— watched  and  waited  in  dreadful 
silence. 


IN  THE  FIRELIGHT  251 

In  that  period  of  ominous  quiet  which  possessed 
the  land,  the  little  group  of  Secret  Service  men  that 
surrounded  the  young  girl  who  alone  stood  between 
a  trembling  civilisation  and  the  threat  of  hell's  own 
chaos,  became  convinced  that  Sanang  was  preparing 
a  final  and  terrible  effort  to  utterly  overwhelm  the 
last  vestige  of  civilisation  in  the  United  States. 

What  shape  that  plan  would  develop  they  could 
not  guess. 

John  Recklow  sent  Benton  to  Chicago  to  watch 
that  centre  of  infection  for  the  appearance  there  of 
the  Yezidee  Togrul. 

Selden  went  to  Boston  where  a  half-witted  group 
of  parlour-socialists  at  Cambridge  were  talking  too 
loudly  and  loosely  to  please  even  the  most  tolerant 
at  Harvard. 

But  neither  Togrul  nor  Sanang  had,  so  far,  ma- 
terialised in  either  city;  and  John  Recklow  prowled 
the  purlieus  of  New  York,  haunting  strange 
byways  and  obscure  quarters  where  the  dull  embers 
of  revolution  always  smouldered,  watching  for  the 
Yezidee  who  was  the  deep-bedded,  vital  root  of  this 
psychic  evil  which  menaced  the  minds  of  all  man- 
kind,— Sanang,  the  Slayer  of  Souls. 

Recklow's  lodgings  were  tucked  away  in  Westover 
Court — three  bedrooms,  a  parlour  and  a  kitchenette. 
Tressa  Cleves  occupied  one  bedroom;  her  husband 
another;  Recklow  the  third. 

And  in  this  tiny  apartment,  hidden  away  among  a 
group  of  old  buildings,  the  very  existence  of  which 
was  unknown  to  the  millions  who  swarmed  the 


252  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

streets  of  the  greatest  city  in  the  world, — here  in 
Westover  Court,  a  dozen  paces  from  the  roar  of 
Broadway,  was  now  living  a  young  girl  upon  whose 
psychic  power  the  only  hope  of  the  world  now 
rested. 

The  afternoon  had  turned  grey  and  bitter;  ragged 
flakes  still  fell;  a  pallid  twilight  possessed  the  snowy 
city,  through  which  lighted  trains  and  taxis  moved 
in  the  foggy  gloom. 

By  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  all  shops  were 
illuminated;  the  south  windows  of  the  Hotel  Astor 
across  the  street  spread  a  sickly  light  over  the  old 
buildings  of  Westover  Court  as  John  Recklow  en- 
tered the  tiled  hallway,  took  the  stairs  to  the  left, 
and  went  directly  to  his  apartment. 

He  unlocked  the  door  and  let  himself  in  and  stood 
a  moment  in  the  entry  shaking  the  snow  from  his 
hat  and  overcoat. 

The  sitting-room  lamp  was  unlighted  but  he  could 
see  a  fire  in  the  grate,  and  Tressa  Cleves  seated  near, 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  glowing  coals. 

He  bade  her  good  evening  in  a  low  voice;  she 
turned  her  charming  head  and  nodded,  and  he  drew 
a  chair  to  the  fender  and  stretched  out  his  wet  shoes 
to  the  warmth. 

"Is  Victor  still  out?"  he  inquired. 

She  said  that  her  husband  had  not  yet  returned. 
Her  eyes  were  on  the  fire,  Recklow's  rested  on  her 
shadowy  face. 


IN  THE  FIRELIGHT  253 

"Benton  got  his  man  in  Chicago,"  he  said.  "It 
was  not  Togrul  Kahn." 

"Who  was  it?" 

"Only  a  Swami  fakir  who'd  been  preaching  sedi- 
tion to  a  little  group  of  greasy  Bengalese  from 
Seattle.  .  .  .  I've  heard  from  Selden,  too." 

She  nodded  listlessly  and  lifted  her  eyes. 

"Neither  Sanang  nor  Togrul  have  appeared  in 
Boston,"  he  said.  "I  think  they're  here  in  New 
York." 

The  girl  said  nothing. 

After  a  silence : 

"Are  you  worried  about  your  husband?"  he  asked 
abruptly. 

"I  am  always  uneasy  when  he  is  absent,"  she 
said  quietly. 

"Of  course.  .  .  .  But  I  don't  suppose  he  knows 
that." 

"I  suppose  not." 

Recklow  leaned  over,  took  a  coal  in  the  tongs  and 
lighted  a  cigar.  Leaning  back  in  his  armchair,  he 
said  in  a  musing  voice : 

"No,  I  suppose  your  husband  does  not  realise 
that  you  are  so  deeply  concerned  over  his  welfare." 

The  girl  remained  silent. 

"I  suppose,"  said  Recklow  softly,  "he  doesn't 
dream  you  are  in  love  with  him." 

Tressa  Cleves  did  not  stir  a  muscle.  After  a  long 
silence  she  said  in  her  even  voice: 

"Do  you  think  I  am  in  love  with  my  husband,  Mr. 
Recklow?" 


254  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"I  think  you  fell  in  love  with  him  the  first  evening 
you  met  him." 

"I  did." 

Neither  of  them  spoke  again  for  some  minutes. 
Recklow's  cigar  went  wrong;  he  rose  and  found 
another  and  returned  to  the  fire,  but  did  not  light  it. 

"It's  a  rotten  day,  isn't  it?"  he  said  with  a 
shiver,  and  dumped  a  scuttle  of  coal  on  the  fire. 

They  watched  the  blue  flames  playing  over  the 
grate. 

Tressa  said:  "I  could  no  more  help  falling  in 
love  with  him  than  I  could  stop  my  heart  beating. 
.  .  .  But  I  did  not  dream  that  anybody  knew." 

"Don't  you  think  he  ought  to  know?" 

"Why?    He  is  not  in  love  with  me." 

"Are  you  sure,  Mrs.  Cleves?" 

"Yes.  He  is  wonderfully  sweet  and  kind.  But 
he  could  not  fall  in  love  with  a  girl  who  has  been 
what  I  have  been." 

Recklow  smiled.  "What  have  you  bees,  Tressa 
Nome?" 

"You  know." 

"A  temple-girl  at  Yian?" 

"And  at  the  Lake  of  the  Ghosts,"  she  said  in  a 
low  voice. 

"What  of  it?" 

"I  can  not  tell  you,  Mr.  Recklow.  .  .  .  Only  that 
I  lost  my  soul  in  the  Yezidee  Temple " 

"That  is  untrue !" 

"I  wish  it  were  untrue.  .  .  .  My  husband  tells  me 
that  nothing  can  really  harm  the  soul.  I  try  to  be- 


IN  THE  FIRELIGHT  255 

fieve  him.  .  .  .  But  Erlik  lives.  And  when  my  soul 
at  last  shall  escape  my  body,  it  shall  not  escape  the 
Slayer  of  Souls." 

"That  is  monstrously  untrue " 

"No.  I  tell  you  that  Prince  Sanang  slew  my  soul. 
And  my  soul's  ghost  belongs  to  Erlik.  How  can 
any  man  fall  in  love  with  such  a  girl?" 

"Why  do  you  say  that  Sanang  slew  your  soul?" 
asked  Recklow,  peering  at  her  averted  face  through 
the  reddening  firelight. 

She  lay  still  in  her  chair  for  a  moment,  then  turned 
suddenly  on  him : 

"He  did  slay  it!  He  came  to  the  Lake  of  the 
Ghosts  as  my  lover;  he  meant  to  have  done  it  there; 
but  I  would  not  have  him — would  not  listen,  nor 
suffer  his  touch ! — I  mocked  at  him  and  his  passion. 
I  laughed  at  his  Tchortchas.  They  were  afraid  of 
me!—" 

She  half  rose  from  her  chair,  grasped  the  arms, 
then  seated  herself  again,  her  eyes  ablaze  with  the 
memory  of  wrongs. 

"How  dare  I  show  my  dear  lord  that  I  am  in  love 
with  him  when  Sanang's  soul  caught  my  soul  out  of 
my  body  one  day — surprised  my  soul  while  my  body 
lay  asleep  in  the  Yezidee  Temple! — and  bore  it 
in  his  arms  to  the  very  gates  of  hell!" 

"Good  God,"  whispered  Recklow,  "what  do  you 
mean?  Such  things  can't  happen." 

"Why  not?  They  do  happen.  I  was  caught  un- 
awares. ...  It  was  one  golden  afternoon,  and 
Yulan  and  Sansa  and  I  were  eating  oranges  by  the 


256  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

fountain  in  the  inner  shrine.  And  I  lay  down  by  the 
pool  and  made  the  effort — you  understand?" 

"Yes." 

"Very  well.  My  soul  left  my  body  asleep  and  I 
went  out  over  the  tops  of  the  flowers — idly,  without 
aim  or  intent — as  the  winds  blow  in  summer.  ...  It 
was  in  the  Wood  of  the  White  Moth  that  I  saw 
Sanang's  soul  flash  downward  like  a  streak  of  fire 
and  wrap  my  soul  in  flame!  .  .  .  And,  in  a  flash, 
we  were  at  the  gates  of  hell  before  I  could  free  my- 
self from  his  embrace.  .  .  .  Then,  by  the  Temple 
pool,  among  the  oranges,  I  cried  out  asleep;  and  my 
terrified  body  sat  up  sobbing  and  trembling  in 
Yulun's  arms.  But  the  Slayer  of  Souls  had  slain 
mine  in  the  Wood  of  the  White  Moth — slain  it  as 
he  caught  me  in  his  flaming  arms.  .  .  .  And  now  you 
know  why  such  a  woman  as  I  dare  not  bend  to  kiss 
the  dust  from  my  dear  Lord's  feet — Aie-a !  Aie-a  I 
I  who  have  lost  my  girl's  soul  to  him  who  slew  it  in 
the  Wood  of  the  White  Moth!" 

She  sat  rocking  in  her  chair  in  the  red  firelight, 
her  hands  framing  her  lovely  face,  her  eyes  staring 
straight  ahead  as  though  they  saw  opening  before 
them  through  the  sombre  shadows  of  that  room  all 
the  dread  magic  of  the  East  where  the  dancing  flame 
of  Sanang's  blazing  soul  lighted  their  path  to  hell 
through  the  enchanted  forest. 

Recklow  had  grown  pale,  but  his  voice  was  steady. 

"I  see  no  reason,"  he  said,  "why  your  husband 
should  not  love  you." 


IN  THE  FIRELIGHT  257 

"I  tell  you  my  girl's  soul  belonged  to  Sanang— 
was  part  of  his,  for  an  instant." 

"It  is  burned  pure  of  dross." 

"It  is  burned." 

Recklow  remained  silent.  Tressa  lay  deep  in  her 
armchair,  twisting  her  white  fingers. 

"What  makes  him  so  late?"  she  said  ...  "I  sent 
my  soul  out  twice  to  look  for  him,  and  could  not  find 
him." 

"Send  it  again,"  said  Recklow,  fearfully. 

For  ten  minutes  the  girl  lay  as  though  asleep, 
then  her  eyes  unclosed  and  she  said  drowsily:  "I  can 
not  find  him." 

"Did — did  you  learn  anything  while — while  you 
were — away?"  asked  Recklow  cautiously. 

"Nothing.  There  is  a  thick  darkness  out  there — 
I  mean  a  darkness  gathering  over  the  whole  land. 
It  is  like  a  black  fog.  When  the  damned  pray  to 
Erlik  there  is  a  darkness  that  gathers  like  a  brown 
mist " 

Her  voice  ceased;  her  hands  tightened  on  the  arms 
of  her  chair. 

"That  is  what  Sanang  is  doing  I"  she  said  in  a 
breathless  voice. 

"What?"  demanded  Recklow. 

"Praying!  That  is  what  he  is  doing!  A  million 
perverted  minds  which  he  has  seized  and  obsessed 
are  being  concentrated  on  blasphemous  prayers  to 
Erlik!  Sanang  is  directing  them.  Do  you  under- 
stand the  terrible  power  of  a  million  minds  all 
willing,  in  unison,  the  destruction  of  good  and  the 


258  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

triumph  of  evil?  A  million  human  minds!  More! 
For  that  is  what  he  is  doing.  That  is  the  thick  dark- 
ness that  is  gathering  over  the  entire  Western  world. 
It  is  the  terrific  materialisation  of  evil  power  from 
evil  minds,  all  focussed  upon  the  single  thought  that 
evil  must  triumph  and  good  die !" 

She  sat,  gripping  the  arms  of  her  chair,  pale,  rigid, 
terribly  alert,  dreadfully  enlightened,  now,  concern- 
ing the  awful  and  new  menace  threatening  the  sanity 
of  mankind. 

She  said  in  her  steady,  emotionless  voice :  "When 
the  Yezidee  Sorcerers  desire  to  overwhelm  a  nomad 
people — some  yort  perhaps  that  has  resisted  the 
Sheiks  of  the  Eight  Towers,  then  the  Slayer  of  Souls 
rides  with  his  Black  Banners  to  the  Namaz-Ga  or 
Place  of  Prayer. 

"Two  marble  bridges  lead  to  it.  There  are  four- 
teen hundred  mosques  there.  Then  come  the  Eight, 
each  with  his  shroud,  chanting  the  prayers  for  those 
dead  in  hell.  And  there  the  Yezidees  pray  blas- 
phemously, all  their  minds  in  ferocious  unison.  .  .  . 
And  I  have  seen  a  little  yort  full  of  Broad  Faces  with 
their  slanting  eyes  and  sparse  beards,  sicken  and  die, 
and  turn  black  in  the  sun  as  though  the  plague  had 
breathed  on  them.  And  I  have  seen  the  Long  Noses 
and  bushy  beards  of  walled  towns  wither  and  perish 
in  the  blast  and  blight  from  the  Namaz-Ga  where 
the  Slayer  of  Souls  sat  his  saddle  and  prayed  to 
Erlik,  and  half  a  million  Yezidees  prayed  in  blas- 
phemous unison." 

Recklow's  head  rested  on  his  left  hand.     The 


IN  THE  FIRELIGHT  259 

other,  unconsciously,  had  crept  toward  his  pistol — 
the  weapon  which  had  become  so  useless  in  this 
awful  struggle  between  this  girl  and  the  loosened 
forces  of  hell. 

"Is  that  what  you  think  Sanang  is  about?"  he 
asked  heavily. 

"Yes.  I  know  it.  He  has  seized  the  minds  of  a 
million  men  in  America.  Every  anarchist  is  to-day 
concentrating  in  one  evil  and  supreme  mental  effort, 
under  Sanang's  direction,  to  will  the  triumph  of  evil 
and  the  doom  of  civilisation.  ...  I  wish  my  hus- 
band would  come  home." 

"Tressa?" 

She  turned  her  pallid  face  in  the  firelight:  "If 
Sanang  has  appointed  a  Place  of  Prayer,"  she  said, 
"he  himself  will  pray  on  that  spot.  That  will  be  the 
Namaz-Ga  for  the  last  two  Yezidee  Sorcerers  still 
alive  in  the  Western  World." 

"That's  what  I  wished  to  ask  you,"  said  Recklow 
softly.  "Will  you  try  once  more,  Tressa?" 

"Yes.  I  will  send  out  my  soul  again  to  look  for 
the  Namaz-Ga." 

She  lay  back  in  her  armchair  and  closed  her  eyes. 

"Only,"  she  added,  as  though  to  herself,  "I  wish 
my  dear  lord  were  safe  in  this  room  beside  me.  .  .  . 
May  God's  warriors  be  his  escort.  And  surely  they 
are  well  armed,  and  can  prevail  over  demons.  Aie-a ! 
I  wish  my  lord  would  come  home  out  of  the  dark- 
ness. ...  Mr.  Recklow?" 

"Yes,  Tressa." 

"I  thought  I  heard  him  on  the  stairs." 


260  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"Not  yet." 

"Aie-a!"  she  sighed  and  closed  her  eyes  again. 

She  lay  like  one  dead.  There  was  no  sound  in 
the  room  save  the  soft  purr  of  the  fire. 

Suddenly  from  the  sleeping  girl  a  frightened  voice 
burst :  "Yulun !  Yulun !  Where  is  that  yellow  maid 
of  the  Baroulass?  .  .  .  What  is  she  doing?  That 
sleek  young  thing  belongs  to  Togrul  Kahn?  Yulun ! 
I  am  afraid  of  her!  Tell  Sansa  to  watch  that  she 
does  not  stir  from  the  Lake  of  the  Ghosts!  .  .  . 
Warn  that  young  Baroulass  Sorceress  that  if  she 
stirs  I  slay  her.  And  know  how  to  do  it  in  spite  of 
Sanang  and  all  the  prayers  from  the  Namaz-Gal 
Yulun!  Sansa!  Watch  her,  follow  her,  hearts  of 
flame!  My  soul  be  ransom  for  yours!  Tokhta!" 

The  girl's  eyes  unclosed.  Presently  she  stirred 
slightly,  passed  one  hand  across  her  forehead,  turned 
her  head  toward  Recklow. 

"I  could  not  discover  the  Namaz-Ga,"  she  said 
wearily.  "I  wish  my  husband  would  return." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE    PLACE  OF  PRAYER 

HER  husband  called  her  on  the  telephone  a 
few  minutes  later: 

"Fifty-three,      Six-twenty-six      speaking! 
Who  is  this?" 

"V-sixty-nine,"  replied  his  young  wife  happily. 
"Are  you  all  right?" 

"Yes.     IsM.H.  2479  there?" 

"He  is  here." 

"Very  well.  An  hour  ago  I  saw  Togrul  Khan  in 
a  limousine  and  chased  him  in  a  taxi.  His  car  got 
away  in  the  fog  but  it  was  possible  to  make  out  the 
number.  An  empty  Cadillac  limousine  bearing  that 
number  is  now  waiting  outside  the  44th  Street  en- 
trance to  the  Hotel  Astor.  The  doorman  will  hold 
it  until  I  finish  telephoning.  Tell  M.  H.  2479  to 
send  men  to  cover  this  matter " 

"Victor!" 

"Be  careful!    Yes,  what  is  it?" 

"I  beg  you  not  to  stir  in  this  affair  until  I  can 
join  you " 

"Hurry  then.     It's  just  across  the  street  from 

Westover  Court "     His  voice  ceased ;  she  heard 

another  voice,  faintly,  and  an  exclamation  from  her 
261 


262  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

husband;  then  his  hurried  voice  over  the  wire:  "The 
doorman  just  sent  word  to  hurry.  The  car  number 
is  N.  Y.  0/5  F  0379!  I've  got  to  run !  Good-b " 

He  left  the  booth  at  the  end  of  Peacock  Alley,  ran 
down  the  marble  steps  to  the  left  and  out  to  the 
snowy  sidewalk,  passing  on  his  way  a  young  girl 
swathed  to  the  eyes  in  chinchilla  who  was  hurrying 
into  the  hotel.  As  he  came  to  where  the  limousine 
was  standing,  he  saw  that  it  was  still  empty  although 
the  door  stood  open  and  the  engine  was  running. 
Around  the  chauffeur  stood  the  gold  laced  doorman, 
the  gorgeously  uniformed  carriage  porter  and  a 
mounted  policeman. 

"Hey!"  said  the  latter  when  he  saw  Cleves, — 
"what's  the  matter  here?  What  are  you  holding  up 
this  car  for?" 

Cleves  beckoned  him,  whispered,  then  turned  to 
the  doorman. 

"Why  did  you  send  for  me?  Was  the  chauffeur 
trying  to  pull  out?" 

"Yes,  sir.  A  lady  come  hurrying  out  an'  she 
jumps  in,  and  the  shawfur  he  starts  her  hum- 
ming  " 

"A  lady!     Where  did  she  go?" 

"It  was  that  young  lady  in  chinchilla  fur.  The 
one  you  just  met  when  you  run  out.  Yessir !  Why, 
as  soon  as  I  held  up  the  car  and  called  this  here  cop, 
she  opens  the  door  and  out  she  jumps  and  beats  it 
into  the  hotel  again " 

"Hold   that   car,    Officer!"    interrupted    Cleves. 


THE  PLACE  OF  PRAYER  263 

"Keep  it  standing  here  and  arrest  anybody  who  gets 
into  it!  I'll  be  back  again " 

He  turned  and  hurried  into  the  hotel,  traversed 
Peacock  Alley  scanning  every  woman  he  passed, 
searching  for  a  slim  shape  swathed  in  chinchilla. 
There  were  no  chinchilla  wraps  in  Peacock  Alley; 
none  in  the  dining-room  where  people  already  were 
beginning  to  gather  and  the  orchestra  was  now  play- 
ing; no  young  girl  in  chinchilla  in  the  waiting  room, 
or  in  the  north  dining-room. 

Then,  suddenly,  far  across  the  crowded  lobby,  he 
saw  a  slender,  bare-headed  girl  in  a  chinchilla  cloak 
turn  hurriedly  away  from  the  room-clerk's  desk, 
holding  a  key  in  her  white  gloved  hand. 

Before  he  could  take  two  steps  in  her  direction 
she  had  disappeared  in  the  crowd. 

He  made  his  way  through  the  packed  lobby  as  best 
he  could  amid  throngs  of  people  dressed  for  dinner, 
theatre,  or  other  gaiety  awaiting  them  somewhere 
out  there  in  the  light-smeared  winter  fog;  but  when 
he  arrived  at  the  room  clerk's  desk  he  looked  for  a 
chinchilla  wrap  in  vain. 

Then  he  leaned  over  the  desk  and  said  to  the  clerk 
in  a  low  voice:  "I  am  a  Federal  agent  from  the 
Department  of  Justice.  Here  are  my  credentials. 
Now,  who  was  that  young  woman  in  chinchilla  furs 
to  whom  you  gave  her  door  key  a  moment  ago?" 

The  clerk  leaned  over  his  counter  and,  dropping 
his  voice,  answered  that  the  lady  in  question  had  ar- 
rived only  that  morning  from  San  Francisco;  had 
registered  as  Madame  Aoula  Baroulass;  and  had 


264  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

been  given  a  suite  on  the  fourth  floor  numbered  from 
408  to  414. 

"Do  you  mean  to  arrest  her?"  added  the  clerk  in 
a  weird  whisper. 

"I  don't  know.  Possibly.  Have  you  the  master- 
key?" 

The  clerk  handed  it  to  him  without  a  word;  and 
Cleves  hurried  to  the  elevator. 

On  the  fourth  floor  the  matron  on  duty  halted 
him,  but  when  he  murmured  an  explanation  she 
nodded  and  laid  a  finger  on  her  lips. 

"Madame  has  gone  to  her  apartment,"  she  whis- 
pered. 

"Has  she  a  servant?      Or  friends  with  her?" 

"No,  sir.  ...  I  did  see  her  speak  to  two  foreign 
looking  gentlemen  in  the  elevator  when  she  arrived 
this  morning." 

Cleves  nodded;  the  matron  pointed  out  the  direc- 
tion in  silence,  and  he  went  rapidly  down  the  car- 
peted corridor,  until  he  came  to  a  door  num- 
bered 408. 

For  a  second  only  he  hesitated,  then  swiftly  fitted 
the  master-key  and  opened  the  door. 

The  room — a  bedroom — was  brightly  lighted ;  but 
there  was  nobody  there.  The  other  rooms — dress- 
ing closet,  bath-room  and  parlour,  all  were  brilliantly 
lighted  by  ceiling  fixtures  and  wall  brackets ;  but  there 
was  not  a  person  to  be  seen  in  any  of  the  rooms — 
nor,  save  for  the  illumination,  was  there  any  visible 
sign  that  anybody  inhabited  the  apartment. 

Swiftly  he  searched  the  apartment  from  end  to 


THE  PLACE  OF  PRAYER  265 

end.  There  was  no  baggage  to  be  seen,  no  gar- 
ments, no  toilet  articles,  no  flowers  in  the  vases,  no 
magazines  or  books,  not  one  article  of  feminine  ap- 
parel or  of  personal  bric-a-brac  visible  in  the  entire 
place. 

Nor  had  the  bed  even  been  turned  down — nor  any 
preparation  for  the  night's  comfort  been  attempted. 
And,  except  for  the  blazing  lights,  it  was  as  though 
the  apartment  had  not  been  entered  by  anybody  for  a 
month. 

All  the  windows  were  closed,  all  shades  lowered 
and  curtains  drawn.  The  air,  though  apparently 
pure  enough,  had  that  vague  flatness  which  one  asso- 
ciates with  an  unused  guest-chamber  when  opened 
for  an  airing. 

Now,  deliberately,  Cleves  began  a  more  thorough 
search  of  the  apartment,  looking  behind  curtains, 
under  beds,  into  clothes  presses,  behind  sofas. 

Then  he  searched  the  bureau  drawers,  dressers, 
desks  for  any  sign  or  clew  of  the  girl  in  the  chin- 
chillas. There  was  no  dust  anywhere, — the  hotel 
management  evidently  was  particular — but  there  was 
not  even  a  pin  to  be  found. 

Presently  he  went  out  into  the  corridor  and  looked 
again  at  the  number  on  the  door.  He  had  made  no 
mistake. 

Then  he  turned  and  sped  down  the  long  corridor 
to  where  the  matron  was  standing  beside  her  desk 
preparing  to  go  off  duty  as  soon  as  the  other  matron 
arrived  to  relieve  her. 

To  his  impatient  question  she  replied  positively 


266  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

that  she  had  seen  the  girl  in  chinchillas  unlock  408 
and  enter  the  apartment  less  than  five  minutes  be- 
fore he  had  arrived  in  pursuit. 

"And  I  saw  her  lights  go  on  as  soon  as  she  went 
in,"  added  the  matron,  pointing  to  the  distant  illu- 
minated transom. 

"Then  she  went  out  through  into  the  next  apart- 
ment," insisted  Cleves. 

"The  fire-tower  is  on  one  side  of  her;  the  scullery 
closet  on  the  other,"  said  the  matron.  "She  could 
not  have  left  that  apartment  without  coming  out  into 
the  corridor.  And  if  she  had  come  out  I  should 
have  seen  her." 

"I  tell  you  she  isn't  in  those  rooms!"  protested 
Cleves. 

"She  must  be  there,  sir.  I  saw  her  go  in  a  few 
seconds  before  you  came  up." 

At  that  moment  the  other  matron  arrived.  There 
was  no  use  arguing.  He  left  the  explanation  of  the 
situation  to  the  woman  who  was  going  off  duty,  and, 
hastening  his  steps,  he  returned  to  apartment  408. 

The  door,  which  he  had  left  open,  had  swung 
shut.  Again  he  fitted  the  master-key,  entered, 
paused  on  the  threshold,  looked  around  nervously, 
his  nostrils  suddenly  filled  with  a  puff  of  perfume. 

And  there  on  the  table  by  the  bed  he  saw  a  glass 
bowl  filled  with  a  mass  of  Chinese  orchids — great 
odorous  clusters  of  orange  and  snow-white  bloom 
that  saturated  all  the  room  with  their  freshening 
scent. 

So  astounded  was  he  that  he  stood  stock  still,  one 


THE  PLACE  OF  PRAYER  267 

hand  still  on  the  door-knob;  then  in  a  trice  he  had 
closed  and  locked  the  door  from  inside. 

Somebody  was  in  that  apartment.  There  could 
be  no  doubt  about  it.  He  dropped  his  right  hand 
into  his  overcoat  pocket  and  took  hold  of  his  auto- 
matic pistol. 

For  ten  minutes  he  stood  so,  listening,  peering 
about  the  room  from  bed  to  curtains,  and  out  into 
the  parlour.  There  was  not  a  sound  in  the  place. 
Nothing  stirred. 

Now,  grasping  his  pistol  but  not  drawing  it,  he 
began  another  stealthy  tour  of  the  apartment,  ex- 
ploring every  nook  and  cranny.  And,  at  the  end, 
had  discovered  nothing  new. 

When  at  length  he  realised  that,  as  far  as  he 
could  discover,  there  was  not  a  living  thing  in  the 
place  excepting  himself,  a  very  faint  chill  grew  along 
his  neck  and  shoulders,  and  he  caught  his  breath 
suddenly,  deeply. 

He  had  come  back  to  the  bedroom,  now.  The 
perfume  of  #ie  orchids  saturated  the  still  air. 

And,  as  he  stood  staring  at  them,  all  of  a  sudden 
he  saw,  where  their  twisted  stalks  rested  in  the 
transparent  bowl  of  water,  something  moving — 
something  brilliant  as  a  live  ember  gliding  out  from 
among  the  mass  of  submerged  stems — a  living  fish 
glowing  in  scarlet  hues  and  winnowing  the  water  with 
grotesquely  trailing  fins  as  delicate  as  filaments  of 
scarlet  lace. 

To  and  fro  swam  the  fish  among  the  maze  of 
orchid  stalks.  Even  its  eyes  were  hot  and  red  as 


268  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

molten  rubies;  and  as  its  crimson  gills  swelled  and 
relaxed  and  swelled,  tints  of  cherry-fire  waxed  and 
waned  over  its  fat  and  glowing  body. 

And  vaguely,  now,  in  the  perfume  saturated  air, 
Cleves  seemed  to  sense  a  subtle  taint  of  evil, — some- 
thing sinister  in  the  intense  stillness  of  the  place — in 
the  jewelled  fish  gliding  so  silently  in  and  out  among 
the  pallid  convolutions  of  the  drowned  stems. 

As  he  stood  staring  at  the  fish,  the  drugged  odour 
of  the  orchids  heavy  in  his  throat  and  lungs,  some- 
thing stirred  very  lightly  in  the  room. 

Chills  crawling  over  every  limb,  he  looked  around 
across  his  shoulder. 

There  was  a  figure  seated  cross-legged  in  the 
middle  of  the  bed! 

Then,  in  the  perfumed  silence,  the  girl  laughed. 

For  a  full  minute  neither  of  them  moved.  No 
sound  had  echoed  her  low  laughter  save  the  dead- 
ened pulsations  of  his  own  heart.  But  now  there 
grew  a  faint  ripple  of  water  in  the  bowl  where  the 
scarlet  fish,  suddenly  restless,  was  swimming  hither 
and  thither  as  though  pursued  by  an  invisible  hand. 

With  the  slight  noise  of  splashing  water  in  his 
ears,  Cleves  stood  staring  at  the  figure  on  the  bed. 
Under  her  chinchilla  cloak  the  girl  seemed  to  be  all  a 
pale  golden  tint — hair,  skin,  eyes.  The  scant  shred 
of  an  evening  gown  she  wore,  the  jewels  at  her 
throat  and  breast,  all  were  yellow  and  amber  and 
saffron-gold. 

And  now,  looking  him  in  the  eyes,  she  leisurely 
disengaged  the  robe  of  silver  fur  from  her  naked 


THE  PLACE  OF  PRAYER  269 

shoulders  and  let  it  fall  around  her  on  the  bed.  For 
a  second  the  lithe,  willowy  golden  thing  gathered 
there  as  gracefully  as  a  coiled  snake  filled  him  with 
swift  loathing.  Then,  almost  instantly,  the  beauty  of 
the  lissome  creature  fascinated  him. 

She  leaned  forward  and  set  her  elbows  on  her 
two  knees,  and  rested  her  face  between  her  hands — • 
like  a  gold  rose-bud  between  two  ivory  petals,  he 
thought,  dismayed  by  this  young  thing's  beauty, 
shaken  by  the  dull  confusion  of  his  own  heart  bat- 
tering his  breast  like  the  blows  of  a  rising  tide. 

"What  do  you  wish?"  she  inquired  in  her  soft 
young  voice.  "Why  have  you  come  secretly  into  my 
rooms  to  search — and  clasping  in  your  hand  a  loaded 
pistol  deep  within  your  pocket?" 

"Why  have  you  hidden  yourself  until  now?"  he 
retorted  in  a  dull  and  laboured  voice. 

"I  have  been  here." 

"Where?" 

"Here!  .  .  .  Looking  at  you.  .  .  .  And  watch- 
ing my  scarlet  fish.  His  name  is  Dzelim.  He  is  near- 
ly a  thousand  years  old  and  as  wise  as  a  magician. 
Look  upon  him,  my  lord!  See  how  rapidly  he 
darts  around  his  tiny  crystal  world! — like  a  comet 
through  outer  star-dust,  running  the  eternal  race  with 
Time.  .  .'  .  And — yonder  is  a  chair.  Will  my  lord 
be  seated — at  his  new  servant's  feet?" 

A  strange,  physical  weariness  seemed  to  weight 
his  limbs  and  shoulders.  He  seated  himself  near  the 
bed,  never  taking  his  heavy  gaze  from  the  smiling, 


270  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

golden  thing  which  squatted  there  watching  him  so 
intently. 

"Whose  limousine  was  that  which  you  entered  and 
then  left  so  abruptly?"  he  asked. 

"My  own." 

"What  was  the  Yezidee  Togrul  Kahn  doing  in 
it?" 

"Did  you  see  anybody  in  my  car?"  she  asked, 
veiling  her  eyes  a  little  with  their  tawny  lashes. 

"I  saw  a  man  with  a  thick  beard  dyed  red  with 
henna,  and  the  bony  face  and  slant  eyes  of  Togrul 
the  Yezidee." 

"May  my  soul  be  ransom  for  yours,  my  lord,  but 
you  lie!"  she  said  softly.  Her  lips  parted  in  a 
smile ;  but  her  half-veiled  eyes  were  brilliant  as  two 
topazes. 

"Is  that  your  answer?" 

She  lifted  one  hand  and  with  her  forefinger  made 
signs  from  right  to  left  and  then  downward  as 
though  writing  in  Turkish  and  in  Chinese  characters. 

"It  is  written,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "that  we 
belong  to  God  and  we  return  to  him.  Look  out 
what  you  are  about,  my  lord!" 

He  drew  his  pistol  from  his  overcoat  and,  hold- 
ing it,  rested  his  hand  on  his  knee. 

"Now,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "while  we  await  the 
coming  of  Togrul  Kahn,  you  shall  remain  exactly 
where  you  are,  and  you  shall  tell  me  exactly  who 
you  are  in  order  that  I  may  decide  whether  to  arrest 
you  as  an  alien  enemy  inciting  my  countrymen  to 


THE  PLACE  OF  PRAYER  271 

murder,  or  to  let  you  go  as  a  foreigner  who  is  able 
to  prove  her  honesty  and  innocence." 

The  girl  laughed: 

"Be  careful,"  she  said.  "My  danger  lies  in  your 
youth  and  mine — somewhere  between  your  lips  and 
mine  lies  my  only  danger  from  you,  my  lord." 

A  dull  flush  mounted  to  his  temples  and  burned 
there. 

"I  am  the  golden  comrade  to  Heavenly-Azure," 
she  said,  still  smiling.  "I  am  the  Third  Immaum  in 
the  necklace  Keuke  wears  where  Yulun  hangs  as  a 
rose-pearl,  and  Sansa  as  a  pearl  on  fire. 

"Look  upon  me,  my  lordl" 

There  was  a  golden  light  in  his  eyes  which  seemed 
to  stiffen  the  muscles  and  confuse  his  vision.  He 
heard  her  voice  again  as  though  very  far  away : 

"It  is  written  that  we  shall  love,  my  lord — thou 
and  I — this  night — this  night.  Listen  attentively.  I 
am  thy  slave.  My  lips  shall  touch  thy  feet.  Look 
upon  me,  my  lord!" 

There  was  a  dazzling  blindness  in  his  eyes  and  in 
his  brain.  He  swayed  a  little  still  striving  to  fix  her 
with  his  failing  gaze.  t  His  pistol  hand  slipped  side- 
ways from  his  knee,  fell  limply,  and  the  weapon 
dropped  to  the  thick  carpet.  He  could  still  see  the 
glimmering  golden  shape  of  her,  still  hear  her  dis- 
tant voice: 

"It  is  written  that  we  belong  to  God  .  .  . 
Tokhta!  .  .  ." 

Over  his  knees  was  settling  a  snow-white  sheet; 
on  it,  in  his  lap,  lay  a  naked  knife.  There  was  not 


272  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

a  sound  in  the  room  save  the  rushing  and  splashing 
of  the  scarlet  fish  in  its  crystal  bowl. 

Bending  nearer,  the  girl  fixed  her  yellow  eyes 
on  the  man  who  looked  back  at  her  with  dying 
gaze,  sitting  upright  and  knee  deep  in  his  shroud. 

Then,  noiselessly  she  uncoiled  her  supple  golden 
body,  extending  her  right  arm  toward  the  knife. 

"Throw  back  thy  head,  my  lord,  and  stretch  thy 
throat  to  the  knife's  sweet  edge,"  she  whispered 
caressingly.  "No! — do  not  close  your  eyes.  Look 
upon  me.  Look  into  my  eyes.  I  am  Aoula,  temple 
girl  of  the  Baroulass!  I  am  mistress  to  the  Slayer 
of  Souls!  I  am  a  golden  plaything  to  Sanang 
Noiane,  Prince  of  the  Yezidees.  Look  upon  me  at- 
tentively, my  lord!" 

Her  smooth  little  hand  closed  on  the  hilt;  the 
scarlet  fish  splashed  furiously  in  the  bowl,  dislodg- 
ing a  blossom  or  two  which  fell  to  the  carpet  and 
slowly  faded  into  mist. 

Now  she  grasped  the  knife,  and  she  slipped  from 
the  bed  to  the  floor  and  stood  before  the  dazed  man. 

"This  is  the  Namaz-Ga,"  she  said  in  her  silky 
voice.  "Behold,  this  is  the  appointed  Place  of 
Prayer.  Gaze  around  you,  my  lord.  These  are  the 
shadows  of  mighty  men  who  come  here  to  see  you 
die  in  the  Place  of  Prayer." 

Cleves's  head  had  fallen  back,  but  his  eyes  were 
open.  The  Baroulass  girl  took  his  head  in  both 
hands  and  turned  it  hither  and  thither.  And  his 
glazing  eyes  seemed  to  sweep  a  throng  of  shadowy 


THE  PLACE  OF  PRAYER  273 

white-robed  men  crowding  the  room.  And  he  saw 
the  bloodless,  symmetrical  visage  of  Sanang  among 
them,  and  the  great  red  beard  of  Togrul;  and  his 
stiffening  lips  parted  in  an  uttered  cry,  and  sagged 
open,  flaccid  and  soundless. 

The  Baroulass  sorceress  lifted  the  shroud 
from  his  knees  and  spread  it  on  the  carpet,  moving 
with  leisurely  grace  about  her  business  and  softly 
intoning  the  Prayers  for  the  Dead. 

Then,  having  made  her  arrangements,  she  took 
her  knife  into  her  right  hand  again  and  came  back 
to  the  half-conscious  man,  and  stood  close  in  front 
of  him,  bending  near  and  looking  curiously  into  his 
dimmed  eyes. 

"Ayah!"  she  said  smilingly.  "This  is  the  Place 
of  Prayer.  And  you  shall  add  your  prayer  to  ours 
before  I  use  my  knife.  So !  I  give  you  back  your 
power  of  speech.  Pronounce  the  name  of  Erlik!" 

Very  slowly  his  dry  lips  moved  and  his  dry  tongue 
trembled.  The  word  they  formed  was, 

"Tressa!" 

Instantly  the  girl's  yellow  eyes  grew  incandescent 
and  her  lovely  mouth  became  distorted.  With  her 
left  hand  she  caught  his  chin,  forced  his  head  back, 
exposing  his  throat,  and  using  all  her  strength  drew 
the  knife's  edge  across  it. 

But  it  was  only  her  clenched  fingers  that  swept 
the  taut  throat — clenched  and  empty  fingers  in 
which  the  knife  had  vanished. 

And  when  the  Baroulass  girl  saw  that  her  clenched 


274  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

hand  was  empty,  felt  her  own  pointed  nails  cutting 
into  the  tender  flesh  of  her  own  palm,  she  stared  at 
her  blood-stained  fingers  in  sudden  terror — stared, 
spread  them,  shrieked  where  she  stood,  and  writhed 
there  trembling  and  screaming  as  though  gripped  in 
an  invisible  trap. 

But  she  fell  silent  when  the  door  of  the  room 
opened  noiselessly  behind  her ; — and  it  was  as  though 
she  dared  not  turn  her  head  to  face  the  end  of  all 
things  which  had  entered  the  room  and  was  drawing 
nearer  in  utter  silence. 

Suddenly  she  saw  its  shadow  on  the  wall;  and  her 
voice  burst  from  her  lips  in  a  last  shuddering  scream. 

Then  the  end  came  slowly,  without  a  sound,  and 
she  sank  at  the  knees,  gently,  to  a  kneeling  posture, 
then  backward,  extending  her  supple  golden  shape 
across  the  shroud;  and  lay  there  limp  as  a  dead 
snake. 

Tressa  went  to  the  bowl  of  water  and  drew 
from  it  every  blossom.  The  scarlet  fish  was  now 
thrashing  the  water  to  an  iridescent  spume;  and 
Tressa  plunged  in  her  hands  and  seized  it  and  flung 
it  out — squirming  and  wheezing  crimson  foam — on 
the  shroud  beside  the  golden  girl  of  the  Baroulass. 
Then,  very  slowly,  she  drew  the  shroud  over  the  dy- 
ing things ;  stepped  back  to  the  chair  where  her  hus- 
band lay  unconscious;  knelt  down  beside  him  and 
took  his  head  on  her  shoulder,  gazing,  all  the  while, 
at  the  outline  of  the  dead  girl  under  the  snowy 
shroud. 


THE  PLACE  OF  PRAYER  275 

After  a  long  while  Cleves  stirred  and  opened  his 
eyes.  Presently  he  turned  his  head  sideways  on  her 
shoulder. 

"Tressa,"  he  whispered. 

"Hush,"  she  whispered,  "all  is  well  now."  But 
she  did  not  move  her  eyes  from  the  shroud,  which 
now  outlined  the  still  shapes  of  two  human  figures. 

"John  Recklow !"  she  called  in  a  low  voice. 

Recklow  entered  noiselessly  with  drawn  pistol. 
She  motioned  to  him ;  he  bent  and  lifted  the  edge  of 
the  shroud,  cautiously.  A  bushy  red  beard  pro- 
truded. 

"Togrul!"  he  exclaimed.  .  .  .  "But  who  is  this 
young  creature  lying  dead  beside  him?" 

Then  Tressa  caught  the  collar  of  her  tunic  in  her 
left  hand  and  flung  back  her  lovely  face  looking  up- 
ward out  of  eyes  like  sapphires  wet  with  rain : 

"In  the  name  of  the  one  and  only  God,"  she 
sobbed — "if  there  be  no  resurrection  for  dead  souls, 
then  I  have  slain  this  night  in  vain ! 

"For  what  does  it  profit  a  girl  if  her  soul  be  lost 
to  a  lover  and  her  body  be  saved  for  her  husband?" 

She  rose  from  her  knees,  the  tears  still  falling, 
and  went  and  looked  down  at  the  outlined  shapes 
beneath  the  shroud. 

Recklow  had  gone  to  the  telephone  to  summon  his 
own  men  and  an  ambulance.  Now,  turning  toward 
Tressa  from  his  chair: 

"God  knows  what  we'd  do  without  you,  Mrs. 
Cleves.  I  believe  this  accounts  for  all  the  Yezidees 
except  Sanang." 


276  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"Excepting  Prince  Sanang,"  she  said  drearily. 
Then  she  went  slowly  to  where  her  husband  lay  in 
his  armchair,  and  sank  down  on  the  floor,  and  laid 
her  cheek  across  his  feet. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

IN  that  great  blizzard  which,  on  the  4th  of  Feb- 
ruary, struck  the  eastern  coast  of  the  United 
States  from  Georgia  to  Maine,  John  Recklow 
and  his  men  hunted  Sanang,  the  last  of  the  Yezidees. 

And  Sanang  clung  like  a  demon  to  the  country 
which  he  had  doomed  to  destruction,  imbedding  each 
claw  again  as  it  was  torn  loose,  battling  for  the  su- 
premacy of  evil  with  all  his  dreadful  psychic  power, 
striving  still  to  seize,  cripple,  and  slay  the  bodies 
and  souls  of  a  hundred  million  Americans. 

Again  he  scattered  the  uncounted  myriads  of 
germs  of  the  Black  Plague  which  he  and  his  Yezidees 
had  brought  out  of  Mongolia  a  year  before;  and 
once  more  the  plague  swept  over  the  country,  and 
thousands  on  thousands  died. 

But  now  the  National,  State  and  City  governments 
were  fighting,  with  physicians,  nurses,  and  police, 
this  gruesome  epidemic  which  had  come  into  the 
world  from  they  knew  not  where.  And  National, 
State  and  City  governments,  aroused  at  last,  were 
fighting  the  more  terrible  plague  of  anarchy. 

Nation-wide  raids  were  made  from  the  Atlantic 
to  the  Pacific,  and  from  the  Gulf  to  the  Lakes. 
277 


278  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

Thousands  of  terrorists  of  all  shades  and  stripes 
whose  minds  had  been  seized  and  poisoned  by  the 
Yezidees  were  being  arrested.  Deportations  had 
begun;  government  agents  were  everywhere  swarm- 
ing to  clean  out  the  foulness  that  had  struck  deeper 
into  the  body  of  the  Republic  than  any  one  had  sup- 
posed. 

And  it  seemed,  at  last,  as  though  the  Red  Plague, 
too,  was  about  to  be  stamped  out  along  with  the 
Black  Death  called  Influenza. 

But  only  a  small  group  of  Secret  Service  men 
knew  that  a  resurgence  of  these  horrors  was  inevit- 
able unless  Sanang,  the  Slayer  of  Souls,  was  de- 
stroyed. And  they  knew,  too,  that  only  one  person 
in  America  could  hope  to  destroy  Sanang,  the  last 
of  the  Yezidees,  and  that  was  Tressa  Cleves. 

Only  by  the  sudden  onset  of  the  plague  in  various 
cities  of  the  land  had  Recklow  any  clew  concerning 
the  whereabouts  of  Sanang. 

In  Boston,  then  Washington,  then  Kansas  City, 
and  then  New  York  the  epidemic  suddenly  blazed 
up.  And  in  these  places  of  death  the  Secret  Service 
men  always  found  a  clew,  and  there  they  hunted 
Sanang,  the  Yezidee,  to  kill  him  without  mercy 
where  they  might  find  him. 

But  they  never  found  Sanang  NoTane;  only  the 
ghastly  marks  of  his  poisoned  claws  on  the  body  of 
the  sickened  nation — only  minds  diseased  by  the  Red 
Plague  and  bodies  dying  of  the  Black  Death — civil 
and  social  centres  disorganized,  disrupted,  depraved, 
dying. 


THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS  279 

When  the  blizzard  burst  upon  New  York,  strug- 
gling in  the  throes  of  the  plague,  and  paralysed  the 
metropolis  for  a  week,  John  Recklow  sent  out  a 
special  alarm,  and  New  York  swarmed  with  Secret 
Service  men  searching  the  snow-buried  city  for  a 
graceful,  slender,  dark  young  man  whose  eyes  slanted 
a  trifle  in  his  amber-tinted  face;  who  dressed  fash- 
ionably, lived  fastidiously,  and  spoke  English  per- 
fectly in  a  delightfully  modulated  voice. 

And  to  New  York,  thrice  stricken  by  anarchy,  by 
plague,  and  now  by  God,  hurried,  from  all  parts 
of  the  nation,  thousands  of  secret  agents  who  had 
been  hunting  Sanang  in  distant  cities  or  who  had 
been  raiding  the  traitorous  and  secret  gatherings  of 
his  mental  dupes. 

Agent  ZB-3O3,  who  was  volunteer  agent  James 
Benton,  came  from  Boston  with  his  new  bride  who 
had  just  arrived  by  way  of  England — a  young  girl 
named  Yulun  who  landed  swathed  in  sables,  and 
stretched  out  both  lovely  little  hands  to  Benton  the 
instant  she  caught  sight  of  him  on  the  pier.  Where- 
upon he  took  the  slim  figure  in  furs  into  his  arms, 
which  was  interesting  because  they  had  never  before 
met  in  the  flesh. 

So, — their  honeymoon  scarce  begun,  Benton  and 
Yulun  came  from  Boston  in  answer  to  Recklow's 
emergency  call. 

And  all  the  way  across  from  San  Francisco  came 
volunteer  agent  XLY-37I,  otherwise  Alek  Selden, 
bringing  with  him  a  girl  named  Sansa  whom  he  had 
gone  to  the  coast  to  meet,  and  whom  he  had  imrne- 


280  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

diately  married  after  she  had  landed  from  the  Jap- 
anese steamer  Nan-y&mg  Maru.  Which,  also,  was 
remarkable,  because,  although  they  recognised  each 
other  instantly,  and  their  hands  and  lips  clung  as 
they  met,  neither  had  ever  before  beheld  the  living 
body  of  tBe  other. 

The  third  man  who  came  to  New  York  at  Reek- 
low's  summons  was  volunteer  agent  53-6-26,  other- 
wise Victor  Cleyes. 

His  young  wife,  suffering  from  nervous  shock 
after  the  deaths  of  Togrul  Khan  and  of  the  Barou- 
lass  girl,  Aoula,  had  been  convalescing  in  a  private 
sanitarium  in  Westchester. 

Until  the  summons  came  to  her  husband  from 
Recklow,  she  had  seen  him  only  for  a  few  moments 
every  day.  But  the  call  to  duty  seemed  to  have  ef- 
fected a  miraculous  cure  in  the  slender,  blue-eyed 
girl  who  had  lain  all  day  long,  day  after  day,  in  her 
still,  sunny  room  scarcely  unclosing  her  eyes  at  all 
save  only  when  her  husband  was  permitted  to  enter 
for  the  few  minutes  allowed  them  every  day. 

The  physician  had  just  left,  after  admitting  that 
Mrs.  Cleves  seemed  to  be  well  enough  to  travel  if 
she  insisted;  and  she  and  her  maid  had  already  begun 
to  pack  when  her  husband  came  into  her  room. 

She  looked  around  over  her  shoulder,  then  rose 
from  her  knees,  flung  an  armful  of  clothing  into  the 
trunk  before  which  she  had  been  kneeling,  and  came 
across  the  room  to  him.  Then  she  dismissed  her 
maid  from  the  room.  And  when  the  girl  had  gone : 


THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS  281 

"I  am  well,  Victor,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  "Why 
are  you  troubled?" 

"I  can't  bear  to  have  you  drawn  into  this  horrible 
affair  once  more." 

"Who  else  is  there  to  discover  and  overcome 
Sanang?"  she  asked  calmly. 

He  remained  silent. 

So,  for  a  few  moments  they  stood  confronting 
each  other  there  in  the  still,  sunny  chamber — hus- 
band and  wife  who  had  never  even  exchanged  the 
first  kiss — two  young  creatures  more  vitally  and  in- 
timately bound  together  than  any  two  on  earth — yet 
utterly  separated  body  and  soul  from  each  other — 
two  solitary  spirits  which  had  never  merged;  two 
bodies  virginal  and  inviolate. 

Tressa  spoke  first:  "I  must  go.  That  was  our 
bargain." 

The  word  made  him  wince  as  though  it  had  been  a 
sudden  blow.  Then  his  face  flushed  red. 

"Bargain  or  no  bargain,"  he  said,  "I  don't  want 
you  to  go  because  I'm  afraid  you  can  not  endure 
another  shock  like  the  last  one.  .  .  .  And  every  time 
you  have  thrown  your  own  mind  and  body  between 
this  Nation  and  destruction  you  have  nearly  died 
of  it" 

"And  if  I  die?"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

What  answer  she  awaited — perhaps  hoped  for — 
was  not  the  one  he  made.  He  said :  "If  you  die  in 
what  you  believe  to  be  your  line  of  duty,  then  it  will 
be  I  who  have  killed  you." 


282  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"That  would  not  be  true.  It  is  you  who  have 
saved  me." 

"I  have  not.  I  have  done  nothing  except  to  lead 
you  Into  danger  of  death  since  I  first  met  you.  If 
you  mean  spiritually,  that  also  is  untrue.  You  have 
saved  yourself — if  that  indeed  were  necessary.  You 
have  redeemed  yourself — if  it  is  true  you  needed  re- 
demption— which  I  never  believed " 

"Oh,"  she  sighed  swiftly,  "Sanang  surprised  my 
soul  when  it  was  free  of  my  body — followed  my  soul 
into  the  Wood  of  the  White  Moth — caught  it  there 
all  alone — and — slew  it!" 

His  lips  and  throat  had  gone  dry  as  he  watched 
the  pallid  terror  grow  in  her  face. 

Presently  he  recovered  his  voice:  "You  call  that 
Yezidee  the  Slayer  of  Souls,"  he  said,  "but  I  tell 
you  there  is  no  such  creature,  no  such  power ! 

"I  suppose  I — I  know  what  you  mean — having 
seen  what  we  call  souls  dissociated  from  their  phys- 
ical bodies — but  that  this  Yezidee  could  do  you  any 
spiritual  damage  I  do  not  for  one  instant  believe. 
The  idea  is  monstrous,  I  tell  you " 

"I  —  I  fought  him  —  soul  battling  against 
soul "  she  stammered,  breathing  faster  and  ir- 
regularly. "I  struggled  with  Sanang  there  in  the 
Wood  of  the  White  Moth.  I  called  on  God !  I  called 
on  my  two  great  dogs,  Bars  and  Alaga !  I  recited  the 
Fatha  with  all  my  strength — fighting  convulsively 
whenever  his  soul  seized  mine;  I  cried  out  the  name 
of  Khidr,  begging  for  wisdom !  I  called  on  the  Ten 
Imaums,  on  Ali  the  Lion,  on  the  Blessed  Compan- 


THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS  283 

ions.  Then  I  tore  my  spirit  out  of  the  grasp  of  his 
soul — but  there  was  no  escape"! — no  escape,"  she 
wailed.  "For  on  every  side  I  saw  the  cloud-topped 
rampart  of  Gog  and  Magog,  and  the  woods  rang 
with  Erlik's  laughter — the  dissonant  mirth  of 
hell " 

She  began  to  shudder  and  sway  a  little,  then  with 
an  effort  she  controlled  herself  in  a  measure. 

"There  never  has  been,"  she  began  again  with  lips 
that  quivered  in  spite  of  her — "there  never  has  been 
one  moment  in  our  married  lives  when  my  soul  dared 
forget  the  Wood  of  the  White  Moth — dared  seek 
yours.  .  .  .  God  lives.  But  so  does  Erlik.  There 
are  angels;  but  there  are  as  many  demons.  .  .  .  My 
soul  is  ashamed.  .  .  .  And  very  lonely  .  .  .  very 
lonely  .  .  .  but  no  fit  companion — for  yours " 

Her  hands  dropped  listlessly  beside  her  and  her 
chin  sank. 

"So  you  believe  that  Yezidee  devil  caught  your 
soul  when  it  was  wandering  somewhere  out  of  your 
body,  and  destroyed  it,"  he  said. 

She  did  not  answer,  did  not  even  lift  her  eyes  until 
he  had  stepped  close  to  her — closer  than  he  had  ever 
come.  Then  she  looked  up  at  him,  but  closed  her 
eyes  as  he  swept  her  into  his  arms  and  crushed  her 
face  and  body  against  his  own. 

Now  her  red  lips  were  on  his ;  now  her  face  and 
heart  and  limbs  and  breast  melted  into  his — her 
breath,  her  pulse,  her  strength  flowed  into  his  and 
became  part  of  their  single  being  and  single  pulse 
and  breath.  And  she  felt  their  two  souls  flame  and 


284  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

fuse  together,  and  burn  together  in  one  heavenly 
blaze — felt  the  swift  conflagration  mount,  over- 
whelm, and  sweep  her  clean  of  the  last  lingering 
taint;  felt  her  soul,  unafraid,  clasp  her  husband's 
spirit  in  its  white  embrace — clung  to  him,  uplifted 
out  of  hell,  rising  into  the  blinding  light  of  Paradise. 

Far — far  away  she  heard  her  own  voice  in  singing 
whispers — heard  her  lips  pronounce  The  Name — 
"Ata— Ata !  Allahou " 

Her  blue  eyes  unclosed;  through  a  mist,  in  which 
she  saw  her  husband's  face,  grew  a  vast  metallic 
clamour  in  her  ears. 

Her  husband  kissed  her,  long,  silently;  then,  re- 
taining her  hand,  he  turned  and  lifted  the  receiver 
from  the  clamouring  telephone. 

"Yes!  Yes,  this  is  53-6-26.  Yes,  ¥-69  is  with 
me.  .  .  .  When?  .  .  .  To-day?  .  .  .  Very  well. 
.  .  .  Yes,  we'll  come  at  once.  .  .  .  Yes,  we  can  get 
a  train  in  a  few  minutes.  .  .  .  All  right.  Good-bye." 

He  took  his  wife  into  his  arms  again. 

"Dearest  of  all  in  the  world,"  he  said,  "Sanang  is 
cornered  in  a  row  of  houses  near  the  East  River,  and 
Recklow  has  flung  a  cordon  around  the  entire  block. 
Good  God !  I  can't  take  you  there !" 

Then  Tressa  smiled,  drew  his  head  down,  looked 
into  his  face  till  the  clear  blue  splendour  of  her  gaze 
stilled  the  tumult  in  his  brain. 

"I  alone  know  how  to  deal  with  Prince  Sanang," 
she  said  quietly.  "And  if  John  Recklow,  or  you,  or 
Mr.  Benton  or  Mr.  Selden  should  kill  him  with  your 
pistols,  it  would  be  only  his  body  you  slay,  not  the 


THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS  285 

evil  thing  that  would  escape  you  and  return  to  Erlik." 

"Must  you  do  this  thing,  Tressa?" 

"Yes,  I  must  do  it." 

"But — if  our  pistols  cannot  kill  this  sorcerer,  how 
are  you  going  to  deal  with  him?" 

"I  know  how." 

"Have  you  the  strength?" 

"Yes — the  bodily  and  the  spiritual.  Don't  you 
know  that  I  am  already  part  of  you?" 

"We  shall  be  nearer  still,"  he  murmured. 

She  flushed  but  met  his  gaze. 

"Yes.  .  .  .  We  shall  be  but  one  being.  .  .  .  Ut- 
terly.  .  .  .  For  already  our  hearts  and  souls  are 
one.  And  we  shall  become  of  one  mind  and  one 
body. 

"I  am  no  longer  afraid  of  Sanang  Noiane !" 

"No  longer  afraid  to  slay  him?"  he  asked  quietly. 

A  blue  light  flashed  in  her  eyes  and  her  face  grew 
still  and  white  and  terrible. 

"Death  to  the  body?  That  is  nothing,  my  lord!" 
she  said,  in  a  hard,  sweet  voice.  "It  is  written  that 
we  belong  to  God  and  that  we  return  to  Him.  All 
living  things  must  die,  Heart  of  the  World!  It  is 
only  the  death  of  souls  that  matters.  And  it  has 
arrived  at  a  time  in  the  history  of  mankind,  I  think, 
when  the  Slayer  of  Souls  shall  slay  no  more." 

She  looked  at  him,  flushed,  withdrew  her  hand  and 
went  slowly  across  the  room  to  the  big  bay  window 
where  potted  flowers  were  in  bloom. 

From  a  window-box  she  took  a  pinch  of  dry  soil 
and  dropped  it  into  the  bosom  of  her  gown. 


286  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

Then,  facing  the  East,  with  lowered  arms  and 
palms  turned  outward: 

"There  is  no  god  but  God,"  she  whispered — "the 
merciful,  the  long-suffering,  the  compassionate,  the 
just. 

"For  it  is  written  that  when  the  heavens  are  rolled 
together  like  a  scroll,  every  soul  shall  know  what 
it  hath  wrought. 

"And  those  souls  that  are  dead  in  Jehannum  shall 
arise  from  the  dead,  and  shall  have  their  day  in 
court.  Nor  shall  Erlik  stay  them  till  all  has  been 
said. 

"And  on  that  day  the  soul  of  a  girl  that  hath  been 
put  to  death  shall  ask  for  what  reason  it  was  slain. 

"Thus  it  has  been  written." 

Then  Tressa  dropped  to  her  Knees,  touched  the 
carpet  with  her  forehead,  straightened  her  lithe  body 
and,  looking  over  her  shoulder,  clapped  her  hands 
together  sharply. 

Her  maid  opened  the  door.  "Hasten  with  my 
lord's  luggage!"  she  cried  happily;  and,  still  kneel- 
ing, lifted  her  head  to  her  husband  and  laughed  up 
into  his  eyes. 

"You  should  call  the  porter  for  we  are  nearly 
ready.  Shall  we  go  to  the  station  in  a  sleigh  ?  Oh, 
wonderful!" 

She  leaped  to  her  feet,  extended  her  hand  and 
caught  his. 

"Horses  for  the  lord  of  the  Yiort!"  she  cried, 
laughingly.  "Kosh!  Take  me  out  into  this  new 
white  world  that  has  been  born  to-day  of  the  ten 


THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS  287 

purities  and  the  ten  thousand  felicities !  It  has  been 
made  anew  for  you  and  me  who  also  have  been  born 
this  day!" 

He  scarcely  knew  this  sparkling,  laughing  girl 
with  her  quick  grace  and  her  thousand  swift  little 
moods  and  gaieties. 

Porters  came  to  take  his  luggage  from  his  own 
room ;  and  then  her  trunk  and  bags  were  ready,  and 
were  taken  away. 

The  baggage  sleigh  drove  off.  Their  own  jing- 
ling sleigh  followed;  and  Tressa,  buried  in  furs, 
looked  out  upon  a  dazzling,  unblemished  world, 
lying  silvery  white  under  a  sky  as  azure  as  her  eyes. 

"Keuke  Mongol — Heavenly  Azure,"  he  whis- 
pered close  to  her  crimsoned  cheek,  "do  you  know 
how  I  have  loved  you — always — always?" 

"No,  I  did  not  know  that,"  she  said. 

"Nor  I,  in  the  beginning.  Yet  it  happened,  also, 
from  the  beginning  when  I  first  saw  you." 

"That  is  a  delicious  thing  to  be  told.  Within 
me  a  most  heavenly  glow  is  spreading.  .  .  .  Un- 
glove  your  hand." 

She  slipped  the  glove  from  her  own  white  fingers 
and  felt  for  his  under  the  furs. 

"Aie,"  she  sighed,  "you  are  more  beautiful  than 
Ali ;  more  wonderful  than  the  Flaming  Pearl.  Out 
of  ice  and  fire  a  new  world  has  been  made  for  us." 

"Heavenly  Azure — my  darling!" 

"Oh-h,"  she  sighed,  "your  words  are  sweeter  than 
the  breeze  in  Yian  I  I  shall  be  a  bride  to  you  such 
as  there  never  has  been  since  the  days  of  the  Blessed 


288  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

Companions — may  their  names  be  perfumed  and 
sweet-scented!  .  .  .  Shall  I  truly  be  one  with  you, 
my  lord?" 

"Mind,  soul,  and  body,  one  being,  you  and  I,  little 
Heavenly  Azure." 

"Between  your  two  hands  you  hold  me  like  a 
burning  rose,  my  lord." 

"Your  sweetness  and  fire  penetrate  my  soul." 

"We  shall  burn  together  then  till  the  sky-carpet 
be  rolled  up.  Kosh !  We  shall  be  one,  and  on  that 
day  I  shall  not  be  afraid." 

The  sleigh  came  to  a  clashing,  jingling  halt;  the 
train  plowed  into  the  depot  buried  in  vast  clouds 
of  snowy  steam. 

But  when  they  had  taken  the  places  reserved  for 
them,  and  the  train  was  moving  swifter  and  more 
swiftly  toward  New  York,  fear  suddenly  over- 
whelmed Victor  Cleves,  and  his  face  grew  grey  with 
the  menacing  tumult  of  his  thoughts. 

The  girl  seemed  to  comprehend  him,  too,  and  her 
own  features  became  still  and  serious  as  she  leaned 
forward  in  her  chair. 

"It  is  in  God's  hands,  Heart  of  the  World,"  she 
said  in  a  low  voice.  "We  are  one,  thou  and  I, — or 
nearly  so.  Nothing  can  harm  my  soul." 

"No.  ...  But  the  danger — to  your  life " 

"I  fear  no  Yezidee." 

"The  beast  will  surely  try  to  kill  you.  And  what 
can  I  do?  You  say  my  pistol  is  useless." 

"Yes.  .  .  .  But  I  want  you  near  me." 

"Do  you  imagine  I'd  leave  you  for  a  second? 


THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS  289 

Good  God,"  he  added  in  a  strangled  voice,  "isn't 
there  any  way  I  can  kill  this  wild  beast?  With  my 
naked  hands ?" 

"You  must  leave  him  to  me,  Victor." 

"And  you  believe  you  can  slay  him?    Do  you?" 

She  remained  silent  for  a  long  while,  bent  for- 
ward in  her  armchair,  and  her  hands  clasped  tightly 
on  her  knees. 

"My  husband,"  she  said  at  last,  "what  your  as- 
tronomers have  but  just  begun  to  suspect  is  true,  and 
has  long,  long  been  known  to  the  Sheiks-el-Djebel. 

"For,  near  to  this  world  we  live  in,  are  other 
worlds — planets  that  do  not  reflect  light.  And  there 
is  a  dark  world  called  Yrimid,  close  to  the  earth — 
a  planet  wrapped  in  darkness — a  black  star.  .  .  . 
And  upon  it  Erlik  dwells.  .  .  .  And  it  is  peopled 
by  demons.  .  .  .  And  from  it  comes  sickness  and 
evil " 

She  moistened  her  lips;  sat  for  a  while  gazing 
vaguely  straight  before  her. 

"From  this  black  planet  comes  all  evil  upon 
earth,"  she  resumed  in  a  hushed  voice.  "For  it  is 
very  near  to  the  earth.  It  is  not  a  hundred  miles 
away.  All  strange  phenomena  for  which  our  scien- 
tists can  not  account  are  due  to  this  invisible  planet, 
— all  new  and  sudden  pestilences;  all  convulsions  of 
nature;  the  newly  noticed  radio  disturbances;  the 
new,  so-called  inter-planetary  signals — all — all  have 
their  hidden  causes  within  that  black  and  demon- 
haunted  planet  long  known  to  the  Yezidees,  and  by 
them  called  Yrimid,  or  Erlik's  World. 


290  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

"And — it  is  to  this  black  planet  that  I  shall  send 
Sanang,  Slayer  of  Souls.  I  shall  tear  him  from  this 
earth,  though  he  cling  to  it  with  every  claw;  and 
I  shall  fling  his  soul  into  darkness — out  across  the 
gulf — drive  his  soul  forth — hurl  it  toward  Erlik 
like  a  swift  rocket  charred  and  falling  from  the 
sky  into  endless  night. 

"So  shall  I  strive  to  deal  with  Prince  Sanang,  Sor- 
cerer of  Mount  Alamout,  the  last  of  the  Assassins, 
Sheik-el-Djebel,  and  Slayer  of  Souls.  .  .  .  May 
God  remember  him  in  hell." 

Already  their  train  was  rolling  into  the  great  ter- 
minal. 

Recklow  was  awaiting  them.  He  took  Tressa's 
hands  in  his  and  gazed  earnestly  into  her  face. 

"Have  you  come  to  show  us  how  to  conclude  this 
murderous  business?"  he  asked  grimly. 

"I  shall  try,"  she  said  calmly.  "Where  have  you 
cornered  Sanang?" 

"Could  you  and  Victor  come  at  once?" 

"Yes."  She  turned  and  looked  at  her  husband, 
who  had  become  quite  pale. 

Recklow  saw  the  look  they  exchanged.  There 
could  be  no  misunderstanding  what  had  happened 
to  these  two.  Their  tragedy  had  ended.  They 
were  united  at  last.  He  understood  it  instantly, — 
realised  how  terrible  was  this  new  and  tragic  situ- 
ation for  them  both. 

Yet,  h  -  knew  also  that  the  salvation  of  civilisa- 


THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS  291 

tion  itself  now  depended  upon  this  girl.  She  must 
face  Sanang.  There  was  nothing  else  possible. 

"The  streets  are  choked  with  snow,"  he  said, 
"but  I  have  a  coupe  and  two  strong  horses  waiting." 

He  nodded  to  one  of  his  men  standing  near. 
Cleves  gave  him  the  hand  luggage  and  checks. 

"All  right,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice  to  Recklow; 
and  passed  one  arm  through  Tressa's. 

The  coupe  was  waiting  on  Forty-second  Street, 
guarded  by  a  policeman.  When  they  had  entered 
and  were  seated,  two  mounted  policemen  rode  ahead 
of  the  lurching  vehicle,  picking  a  way  amid  the 
monstrous  snow-drifts,  and  headed  for  the  East 
River. 

"We've  got  him  somewhere  in  a  wretched  row  of 
empty  houses  not  far  from  East  River  Park.  I'm 
taking  you  there.  I've  drawn  a  cordon  of  my  men 
around  the  entire  block.  He  can't  get  away.  But 
I  dared  take  no  chances  with  this  Yezidee  sorcerer — 
dared  not  let  one  of  my  men  go  in  to  look  for  him 
— go  anywhere  near  him, — until  I  could  lay  the 
situation  before  you,  Mrs.  Cleves." 

"Yes,"  she  said  calmly,  "it  was  the  only  way,  Mr. 
Recklow.  There  would  have  been  no  use  shooting 
him — no  use  taking  him  prisoner.  A  prisoner,  he 
remains  as  deadly  as  ever;  dead,  his  mind  still  lives 
and  breeds  evil.  You  are  quite  right;  it  is  for  me 
to  deal  with  Sanang." 

Recklow  shuddered  in  spite  of  himself.  "Can 
you  tear  his  claws  from  the  vitals  of  the  world,  and 


292  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

free  the  sick  brains  of  a  million  people  from  the 
slavery  of  this  monster's  mind?" 

The  girl  said  seriously: 

"Even  Satan  was  stoned.  It  is  so  written.  And 
was  cast  out.  And  dwells  forever  and  ever  in  Abad- 
don. No  star  lights  that  Pit.  None  lights  the 
Black  Planet,  Yrimid.  It  is  where  evil  dwells.  And 
there  Sanang  NoTane  belongs." 

And  now,  beyond  the  dirty  edges  of  the  snow- 
smothered  city,  under  an  icy  mist  they  caught  sight 
of  the  river  where  ships  lay  blockaded  by  frozen 
floes. 

Gulls  circled  over  it;  ghostly  factory  chimneys  on 
the  further  shore  loomed  up  gigantic,  ranged  like 
minarettes. 

The  coupe,  jolting  along  behind  the  mounted  po- 
licemen, struggled  up  toward  the  sidewalk  and 
stopped.  The  two  horses  stood  steaming,  knee  deep 
in  snow.  Recklow  sprang  out;  Tressa  gave  him  one 
hand  and  stepped  lithely  to  the  sidewalk.  Then 
Cleves  got  out  and  came  and  took  hold  of  his 
wife's  arm  again. 

"Well,"  he  said  harshly  to  Recklow,  "where  is 
this  damned  Yezidee  hidden?" 

Recklow  pointed  in  silence,  but  he  and  Tressa 
had  already  lifted  their  gaze  to  the  stark,  shabby  row 
of  abandoned  three-story  houses  where  every  dirty 
blind  was  closed. 

"They're  to  be  demolished  and  model  tenements 
built,"  he  said  briefly. 


THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS  293 

A  man  muffled  in  a  fur  overcoat  came  up  and  took 
Tressa's  hand  and  kissed  it. 

She  smiled  palely  at  Benton,  spoke  of  Yulun, 
wished  him  happiness.  While  she  was  yet  speaking 
Selden  approached  and  bent  over  her  gloved  hand. 
She  spoke  to  him  very  sweetly  of  Sansa,  expressing 
pleasure  at  the  prospect  of  seeing  her  again  in  the 
body. 

"The  Seldens  and  ourselves  have  adjoining  apart- 
ments at  the  Ritz,"  said  Benton.  "We  have  re- 
served a  third  suite  for  you  and  Victor." 

She  inclined  her  lovely  head,  gravely,  then  turned 
to  Recklow,  saying  that  she  was  ready. 

"It  makes  no  difference  which  front  door  I  un- 
lock," he  said.  "All  these  tenements  are  connected 
by  human  rat-holes  and  hidden  runways  leading  from 
one  house  to  another.  .  .  .  How  many  men  do  you 
want?" 

"I  want  you  four  men, — nobody  else." 

Recklow  led  the  way  up  a  snow-covered  stoop, 
drew  a  key  from  his  pocket,  fitted  it,  and  pulled  open 
the  door. 

A  musty  chill  struck  their  faces  as  they  entered 
the  darkened  and  empty  hallway.  Involuntarily 
every  man  drew  his  pistol. 

"I  must  ask  you  to  do  exactly  what  I  tell  you  to 
do,"  she  said  calmly. 

"Certainly,"  said  Recklow,  caressing  his  white 
moustache  and  striving  to  pierce  the  gloom  with  his 
keen  eyes. 

Then  Tressa  took  her  husband's  hand.    "Come," 


294  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

she  said.  They  mounted  the  stairway  together ;  and 
the  three  others  followed  with  pistols  lifted. 

There  was  a  vague  grey  light  on  the  second  floor; 
the  broken  rear  shutters  let  it  in. 

As  though  she  seemed  to  know  her  way,  the  girl 
led  them  forward,  opened  a  door  in  the  wall,  and 
disclosed  a  bare,  dusty  room  in  the  next  house. 

Through  this  she  stepped;  the  others  crept  after 
her  with  weapons  ready.  She  opened  a  second  door, 
turned  to  the  four  men. 

"Wait  here  for  me.  Come  only  when  I  call,"  she 
whispered. 

"For  God's  sake  take  me  with  you,"  burst  out 
Cleves. 

"In  God's  name  stay  where  you  are  till  you  hear 
me  call  your  name !"  she  said  almost  breathlessly. 

Then,  suddenly  she  turned,  swiftly  retracing  her 
steps;  and  they  saw  her  pass  through  the  first  door 
and  disappear  into  the  first  house  they  had  entered. 

A  terrible  silence  fell  among  them.  The  sound  of 
her  steps  on  the  bare  boards  had  died  away.  There 
was  not  a  sound  in  the  chilly  dusk. 

Minute  after  minute  dragged  by.  One  by  one 
the  men  peered  fearfully  at  Cleves.  His  visage 
was  ghastly  and  they  could  see  his  pistol-hand  trem- 
bling. 

Twice  Recklow  looked  at  his  wrist  watch.  The 
third  time  he  said,  unsteadily:  "She  has  been  gone 
three-quarters  of  an  hour." 

Then,  far  away,  they  heard  a  heavy  tread  on  the 
stairs.  Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  footsteps. 


THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS  295 

Every  pistol  was  levelled  at  the  first  door  as  a  man's 
bulky  form  darkened  it. 

"It's  one  of  my  men,"  said  Recklow  in  a  voice 
like  a  low  groan.  "Where  on  earth  is  Mrs.  Cleves?" 

"I  came  to  tell  you,"  said  the  agent,  "Mrs.  Cleves 
came  out  of  the  first  house  nearly  an  hour  ago.  She 
got  into  the  coupe  and  told  the  driver  to  go  to  the 
Rite." 

"What!"  gasped  Recklow. 

"She's  gone  to  the  Ritz,"  repeated  the  agent.  "No 
one  else  has  come  out.  And  I  began  to  worry — 
hearing  nothing  of  you,  Mr.  Recklow.  So  I  stepped 
in  to  see " 

"You  say  that  Mrs.  Cleves  went  out  of  fhe  house 
we  entered,  got  into  the  coupe,  and  told  the  driver 
to  go  to  the  Ritz?"  demanded  Cleves,  astounded. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Where  is  that  coupe?    Did  it  return?" 

"It  had  not  returned  when  I  came  in  here." 

"Go  back  and  look  for  it.  Look  in  the  other 
street,"  said  Recklow  sharply. 

The  agent  hurried  away  over  the  creaking  boards. 
The  four  men  gazed  at  one  another. 

"The  thing  to  do  is  to  obey  her  and  stay  where 
we  are,"  said  Recklow  grimly.  "Who  knows  what 
peril  we  may  cause  her  if  we  move  from " 

His  words  froze  on  his  lips  as  Tressa's  voice  rang 
out  from  the  darkness  beyond  the  door  they  were 
guarding: 

"Victor!  I — I  need  youl  Come  to  me,  my  hus- 
band!" 


296  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

As  Cleves  sprang  through  the  door  into  the  dark- 
ness beyond,  Benton  smashed  a  window  sash  with 
all  the  force  of  his  shoulder,  and,  reaching  out 
through  the  shattered  glass,  tore  the  rotting  blinds 
from  their  hinges,  letting  in  a  flood  of  sickly  light. 

Against  the  bare  wall  stood  Tressa,  both  arms  ex- 
tended, her  hands  flat  against  the  plaster,  and  each 
hand  transfixed  and  pinned  to  the  wall  by  a  knife. 

A  white  sheet  lay  at  her  feet.  On  it  rested  a  third 
knife.  And,  bending  on  one  knee  to  pick  it  up,  they 
caught  a  glimpse  of  a  slender  young  man  in  fashion- 
able afternoon  attire,  who,  as  they  entered  with  the 
crash  of  the  shattered  window  in  their  ears,  sprang 
to  his  nimble  feet  and  stood  confronting  them,  knife 
in  hand. 

Instantly  every  man  fired  at  him  and  the  bullets 
whipped  the  plaster  to  a  smoke  behind  him,  but  the 
slender,  dark  skinned  young  man  stood  motionless, 
loofcmg  at  them  out  of  brilliant  eyes  that  slanted  a 
trifle. 

Again  the  racket  of  the  fusillade  swept  him  and 
filled  the  room  with  plaster  dust. 

Cleves,  frantic  with  horror,  laid  hold  of  the  knives 
that  pinned  his  wife's  hands  to  the  wall,  and  dragged 
them  out. 

But  there  was  no  blood,  no  wound  to  be  seen  on 
her  soft  palms,.  She  took  the  murderous  looking 
blades  from  him,  threw  one  terrible  look  at  Sanang, 
kicked  the  shroud  across  the  floor  toward  him,  and 
flung  both  knives  upon  it. 

The  place  was  still  dim  with  plaster  dust  and  pistol 


THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS  297 

fumes  as  she  stepped  forward  through  the  acrid  mist, 
motioning  the  four  men  aside. 

"Sanang!"  she  cried  in  a  clear  voice,  "may  God 
remember  you  in  hell,  for  my  feet  have  spurned  your 
shroud,  and  your  knives,  which  could  not  scar  my 
palms,  shall  never  pierce  my  heart  I  Look  out  for 
yourself,  Prince  Sanang!" 

"Tokhta !"  he  said,  calmly.  "My  soul  be  ransom 
for  yours!" 

"That  is  a  lie!  My  soul  is  already  ransomed! 
My  mind  is  the  more  powerful.  It  has  already 
halted  yours.  It  is  conquering  yours.  It  is  seizing 
your  mind  and  enslaving  it.  It  is  mastering  your 
will,  Sanang!  Your  mind  bends  before  mine.  You 
know  it!  You  know  it  is  bending.  You  feel  it  is 
breaking  down!" 

Sanang's  eyes  began  to  glitter  but  his  pale  brown 
face  had  grown  almost  white. 

"I  slew  you  once — in  the  Wood  of  the  White 
Moth,"  he  said  huskily.  "There  is  no  resurrection 
from  such  a  death,  little  Heavenly  Azure.  Look 
upon  me !  My  soul  and  yours  are  one !" 

"You  are  looking  upon  my  soul,"  she  said. 

"A  lie !    You  are  in  your  body !" 

The  girl  laughed.  "My  body  lies  asleep  in  the 
Ritz  upon  my  husband's  bed,"  she  said.  "My  body 
is  his,  my  mind  belongs  to  him,  my  soul  is  already  one 
with  his.  Do  you  not  know  it,  dog  of  a  Yezidee? 
Look  upon  me,  Sanang  Noiane !  Look  upon  my  un- 
wounded  hands !  My  shroud  lies  at  your  feet.  And 
there  lie  the  knives  that  could  not  pierce  my  heart  I 


298  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

I  am  thrice  clean!  Listen  to  my  words,  Sanang! 
There  is  no  other  god  but  God!" 

The  young  man's  visage  grew  pasty  and  loose  and 
horrible;  his  lips  became  flaccid  like  dewlaps;  but 
out  of  these  sagging  folds  of  livid  skin  his  voice 
burst  whistling,  screaming,  as  though  wrenched  from 
his  very  belly: 

"May  Erlik  strangle  you!  May  you  rot  where 
you  stand !  May  your  face  become  a  writhing  mass 
of  maggots  and  your  body  a  corruption  of  living 
worms ! 

"For  what  you  are  doing  to  me  this  day  may 
every  demon  in  hell  torment  you ! 

"Have~a  care  what  you  are  about!"  he  screeched. 
"You  are  slaying  my  mind,  you  sorceress!  You 
have  seized  my  mind  and  are  crushing  it!  You  are 
putting  out  its  light,  you  Yezidee  witch! — you  are 
quenching  the  last  spark — of  reason — in — me " 

"Sanang!" 

His  knife  fell  clattering  to  the  floor.  But  he 
stood  stock  still,  his  hands  clutching  his  head — stood 
motionless,  while  scream  on  scream  tore  through  the 
loose  and  gaping  lips,  blowing  them  into  ghastly, 
distorted  folds. 

"Sanang  Noiane!"  she  cried  in  her  clear  voice, 
"the  Eight  Towers  are  darkened!  The  Rampart 
of  Gog  and  Magog  is  fallen !  On  Mount  Alamoul 
nothing  is  living.  The  minds  of  mankind  are  free 
again!" 

She  stepped  forward,  slowly,  and  stood  near  him; 
chanting  in  a  low  voice  the  Prayers  for  the  Dead 


THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS  299 

She  bent  down  and  unrolled  the  shroud,  laid  it  on 
his  shoulders  and  drew  it  up  and  across  his  face, 
covering  his  dying  eyes,  and  swathed  him' so,  slowly, 
from  head  to  foot. 

Then  she  gathered  up  the  three  knives,  cast  them 
upward  into  the  air.  They  did  not  fall  again.  They 
disappeared.  And  all  the  while,  under  her  breath, 
the  girl  was  chanting  the  Prayers  for  the  Dead  as 
she  moved  silently  about  her  business. 

Shrouded  to  the  forehead  in  its  white  cerements, 
the  muffled  figure  of  Sanang  stood  upright,  motion- 
less as  a  swathed  and  frozen  corpse. 

Outside,  the  daylight  had  become  greyer.  It  had 
begun  to  snow  again,  and  a  few  flakes  blew  in 
through  the  shattered  windows  and  clung  to  the 
winding  sheet  of  Sanang. 

And  now  Tressa  drew  close  to  the  shrouded  shape 
and  stood  before  it,  gazing  intently  upon  the  out- 
lined features  of  the  last  of  the  Yezidees. 

"Sanang,"  she  said  very  softly,  "I  hear  your  soul 
bidding  your  body  farewell.  Tokhta  !" 

Then,  under  the  strained  gaze  of  the  four  men 
gathered  there,  the  shroud  fell  to  the  floor  in  a  loose 
heap  of  white  folds.  There  was  nobody  under  it; 
no  trace  of  Sanang.  The  human  shape  of  the  Yezi- 
dee  had  disappeared;  but  a  greyish  mist  had  filled 
the  room,  wavering  up  like  smoke  from  the  shroud, 
and,  like  smoke,  blowing  in  a  long  streamer  toward 
the  window  where  the  draught  drew  it  out  through 
the  falling  snow  and  scattered  the  last  shred  of  it 
against  the  greying  sky. 


300  THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS 

In  the  room  the  mist  thinned  swiftly;  the  four 
men  could  now  see  one  another.  But  Tressa  was  no 
longer  in  the  room.  And  in  place  of  the  white  shroud 
a  piece  of  filthy  tattered  carpet  lay  on  the  floor. 
And  a  dead  rat,  flattened  out,  dry  and  dusty,  lay 
upon  it. 

"For  God's  sake,"  whispered  Recklow  hoarsely, 
"let  us  get  out  of  this!" 

Cleves,  his  pistol  clutched  convulsively,  stared  at 
him  in  terror.  But  Recklow  took  him  by  the  arm 
and  drew  him  away,  muttering  that  Tressa  was 
waiting  for  him,  and  might  be  ill,  and  that  there  was 
nothing  further  to  expect  in  this  ghastly  spot. 


They  went  with  Cleves  to  the  Ritz.  At  the  desk 
the  clerk  said  that  Mrs.  Cleves  had  the  keys  and 
was  in  her  apartment. 

The  three  men  entered  the  corridor  with  him; 
watched  him  try  the  door;  saw  him  open  it;  lin- 
gered a  moment  after  it  had  closed;  heard  the  key 
turn. 

At  the  sound  of  the  door  closing  the  maid  came. 

"Madame  is  asleep  in  her  room,"  she  whispered. 

"When  did  she  come  in?" 

"More  than  two  hours  ago,  sir.  I  have  drawn 
her  bath,  but  when  I  opened  the  door  a  few  moments 
ago,  Madame  was  still  asleep." 

He  nodded;  he  was  trembling  when  he  put  off  his 
overcoat  and  dropped  hat  and  gloves  on  the  carpet. 

From  the  little  rose  and  ivory  reception  room  he 


THE  SLAYER  OF  SOULS  301 

could  see  the  closed  door  of  his  wife's  chamber. 
And  for  a  while  he  stood  staring  at  it. 

Then,  slowly,  he  crossed  this  room,  opened  the 
door;  entered. 

In  her  bedroom  the  tinted  twilight  was  like  ashes 
of  roses.  He  went  to  the  bed  and  looked  down  at 
her  shadowy  face;  gazed  intently;  listened;  then,  in 
sudden  terror,  bent  and  laid  his  hand  on  her  heart. 
It  was  beating  as  tranquilly  as  a  child's;  but  as  she 
stirred,  turned  her  head,  and  unclosed  her  eyes,  un- 
der his  hand  her  heart  leaped  like  a  wild  thing 
caught  unawares  and  the  snowy  skin  glowed  with  an 
exquisite  and  deepening  tint  as  she  lifted  her  arms 
and  clasped  them  around  her  husband's  neck,  draw- 
ing his  quivering  face  against  her  own. 


THE  END 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Ix»  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


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DUE2WKSFROM 


JUN  2  4  1998 


MAY  05  1997 


JOL301998 


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